


I Think I Saw You in My Sleep, Darling

by thanks_its_versace



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Character Death, Demonic Possession, Demons, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Heavy Angst, Honestly Just So Much Angst, Horror, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Sexual Content, Panic Attacks, Schizophrenia, Suicidal Thoughts, The other boys are patients in their ward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:41:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 23
Words: 85,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23979925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanks_its_versace/pseuds/thanks_its_versace
Summary: Jung Wooyoung has spent just over one year in Gonjiam Psychiatric Hospital, and with the regular therapy sessions, doctor’s appointments, and meds, his schizophrenia has become a little more manageable every day. However, everything changes one evening when the very demon that has haunted his dreams since childhood, transfers to his ward as a patient. His name is Choi San.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang
Comments: 263
Kudos: 560





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! First time doing an Ateez fic, but I was so inspired by San's demonic tendencies, I couldn't not write a demon San fic.  
> I hope you like it!  
> xo Versace  
> As a disclaimer: I have never been to a psychiatric hospital before, so everything in this fic is a combination of research and artistic license, so forgive me for inaccuracies.  
> The name of the fic is from the song Such Small Hands by La Dispute.

Three hundred and seventy-four days.

Three hundred and seventy-four marks in the back of the black moleskin journal beside Wooyoung’s tidy cot.

Three hundred and seventy-four breakfasts in the big, off-white cafeteria with the blue tile floor, and three hundred and seventy-four questionable meals on the mismatched plastic plates.

Three hundred and seventy-four days of group therapies, private counseling, and forcing down the little paper cups filled with prescribed medications.

Three hundred and seventy-four days since Jung Wooyoung first entered the tidy, yellow halls of Gonjiam Psychiatric Hospital, all passing in a monotonous blur of faces and names, television shows and puzzles, and fairly quiet walks through the property gardens.

Three hundred and seventy-four days of ordinary, regular life- at least, as ordinary as life can be in a psych ward.

  


It all changed when the new kid showed up.

  


  


-  


The barred windows of the common room were left open, allowing the cool evening air and the mellow hum of crickets to fill the room. In the corner, someone was watching a nature documentary on the flatscreen TV, the gentle commentary set to pretty classical music.  
  
On the musty green sofa, Wooyoung was flipping through a book of poetry- the one his mother used to read to him every night before he went to bed. Over time, the yellowed pages began showing signs of love and age, with their dog-eared corners, broken spine, and cover slightly torn. Here and there a coffee stain was visible from the many rainy afternoons Wooyoung spent as a teenager reading the book in his favourite armchair by the big window.  
  
However, his favourite signs of love were the annotations and underlines carefully added by his mother to her particularly favourite lines, or those by Wooyoung himself once he lived enough to finally grasp the meaning of others.  
  
He often thought of his mother on summer nights like this. Fondly, he remembers sitting on their front step in the warm breeze and the light of the moon, counting all the shooting stars that were visible even through the city lights.  
  
It’s been three hundred and seventy-five days since he’s seen her.  
  
Beside him, Yeosang, his roommate, was diligently filling in a page of his colouring book with tidy strokes, the pink tip of his tongue subtly peeking out from the corner of his mouth as he narrowed his eyes in utmost focus. His faded blue blanket was draped around his shoulders and wrapped snugly across his lap, making his presence look even smaller than it already was.  
  
They often spent evenings like this, just the two of them. Yeosang was Wooyoung’s very first friend here. He was a timid, tiny boy who preferred not to say much, but he loved to listen. Wooyoung, on the other hand, was loud and easily excited, and he loved to talk. Really, he just loved anything that kept him out of his own head and away from the constant noise of his own thoughts. Yeosang’s gentle presence calmed him down, while Wooyoung pulled the other out of his safe little cocoon. They balanced each other out. Together, they made a great team.  
  
Wooyoung placed the book down in his lap and stretched his arms above his head. Groaning, he rolled his neck until he could feel the tension in his shoulders ease up. Blinking slowly as his eyes focused to the dim light of the room, he shot a quick glance over to the TV. Spread out in the armchair closest to the flatscreen, Mingi from down the hall was facing the screen with heavily lidded eyes. For a moment Wooyoung wondered if he was actually asleep.  
  
Suddenly, the lights to the common room flickered off and on, and Mingi, apparently awake after all, cursed under his breath as the TV in the corner went black. Broken from his trance, Yeosang peeked up from his page and turned to Wooyoung with a look of mild confusion that mirrored his own. It was then that their attention was directed to the loud slam of the hospital’s heavy front door.  
  
The common room was separated from the main entrance by a wall with a big window. From this side of the glass, they could see doctors and nurses instantly flood into the lobby, towards a commotion within a cluster of security guards and police officers. Despite the barrier of the glass, an unearthly scream rang throughout the ward in a mixture of unintelligible words and hideous sounds.  
  
As the noises grew closer, a small, shaking hand slipped into Wooyoung’s, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Yeosang sinking even deeper into the corner of the sofa, hiding in the folds of his blanket. He gripped the hand tightly.  
  
Like a dam of water bursting high above a city, the metal doors to the hallway adjacent to the common room burst open, and Wooyoung’s heart stopped.  
  
Dragged through the metal doorway like a wild animal by seven armed security guards was Hell itself.  
  
That’s the only way Wooyoung could describe the boy when thinking back on it later on. His frame was small, skeletal almost, but his presence seeped into every corner of the room like suffocating thick smoke. A black mask obscured the lower half of his face, while his wild, inky black hair spilled into his eyes, almost covering them completely, but unfortunately not succeeding.  
  
His eyes were as black and empty as the night sky, wide and terrible, filled with something indescribable.  
  
Despite the many arms gripping him with unforgiving strength, the leather straps around his ankles, and the grey straight jacket holding his arms snugly to his body, he wasn’t even partially contained.  
  
Violently, his emaciated frame shook, twisting and writhing like the body of a rabid beast. His legs bent at inhuman angles and his neck swayed viciously forwards and backward as though in a horrible dance, keeping time to a silent rhythm.  
  
Wooyoung involuntarily sucked in a breath, and the creature’s head snapped towards him.  
  
Their gazes met.  
  
He felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. Beside him, he could feel Yeosang still completely, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the figure.  
  
Despite the mask obscuring most of the boy’s face, Wooyoung somehow knew that the creature was smiling at him. Something in his eyes changed, their eerie focus unmoving from Wooyoung’s face. Something in the air of the room changed instantly, as though a cold draft swept through, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end.  
  
And then the heavy metal doors at the end of the hall slowly swung shut, and with a heavy click, he was gone.  
  
Instantly the lights resumed their steady buzz, the television turned back on, and the pretty classical music again floated through the small room.  
  
The grip he had on Yeosang’s hand didn’t loosen. He turned to his roommate who had since made himself look as small as humanely possible.  
  
Yeosang’s focus was still on the doors through which the creature had left. When he spoke, his voice was small but didn’t waver.  
  
“He shouldn’t be here.”  
  
Wooyoung opened his mouth to respond when a shaken looking nurse came in and quietly told the patients to get ready for bed.  
  
Yeosang and Wooyoung exchanged a look of mutual restlessness, but stood, hands still tightly clasped, and walked together through the silent hallways back to their unit.

  


-

  


Wooyoung was just about to turn off the lamp beside his bed, when Yeosang’s little frame appeared in front of him, blanket clutched tightly to his chest.  
  
“Can I sleep with you tonight?”  
  
Usually, when Yeosang asked, Wooyoung agreed only to humor the nervous boy, but after the events of the evening, he was all too grateful for the company.  
  
After clicking off the light, Wooyoung shuffled close, wrapping an arm around the boy, who nuzzled his head into the crook of his neck. Their legs wrapped together under the blankets. Eventually, they began to relax in the warmth of each other’s arms.  
  
“Yeo?”  
  
The boy’s soft breath ghosted across his neck.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I know him.”  
  
The smaller boy’s eyes peered up at him, a small wrinkle between his brows.  
  
“The new one?”  
  
Wooyoung swallowed thickly, and his response was hoarse.  
  
“Yeosang, he wasn’t supposed to be real.”  
  
The other boy tensed, but didn’t respond.  
  
“Yeosang, he’s the demon that I’ve seen since I was twelve. He’s not supposed to be real.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: I developed San's entire character in this story based on the vibe I get from Obsession by Exo, so if you're ever curious, I recommend reading the scenes he's in with that song as BGM!


	2. San

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What time is it?? Backstory time!!  
> I'm aiming for 3,000 words per chapter, more or less depending on how much is going on, and am aiming to post weekly at least during the quarantine.  
> Also, this work is entirely un-beta'd so if there are any mistakes or the timeline seems unclear, feel free to lmk :)
> 
> **Warning**  
> This chapter contains an in depth depiction of attempted suicide, so if you feel uncomfortable with that, you can stop reading at "He was fifteen years old the day he finally met San" and resume reading at "The world outside the psych ward was warm and bright".

“Earth to Wooyoung, do you copy? Over.”

Wooyoung jumped as a spoon was poked sharply into his side. Blinking, he looked around the cafeteria table at the four pairs of eyes now fixed on him, suddenly aware of the absence of conversation.

“Sorry, what was that?”

Across the table, Yunho was squinting at him while holding a plastic cup to his ear like a radio.

“You’re supposed to say over. Over.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Wooyoung raised his cup to his mouth mimicking Yunho’s pose.

“Over, over.”

Yunho made an exasperated noise and slumped backwards in his chair.  
  
“That’s not what I meant.”

Mingi patted Yunho’s head sympathetically and turned to Wooyoung who was now absently picking at his meal.

“What’s with you, Woo? You’ve been spending even more time in your head than usual. Did they raise your dosage or something?”

Wooyoung shook his head, trying to force away the fog that seemed to shroud his mind.

“It’s nothing. I think I’m just tired.”

Beside him, Yeosang was watching with the little crease between his eyebrows that always appeared when he was trying to figure something out. Sometimes Wooyoung would see it when he was methodically solving sudoku, sometimes while he was deeply invested in a mystery novel, but most often, Wooyoung saw the expression when he knew the boy was trying to read the words Wooyoung left unspoken. He sometimes swore that Yeosang was telepathic due to how well the other could figure out what was on his mind.

Wooyoung gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile and resumed poking at his questionable plate of food, but he could still feel the other’s gaze on him. He knew his friend wouldn’t be convinced, but thankfully, he dropped the topic and turned back to the new tangent their friends’ conversation had taken.

Suddenly feeling a lack of appetite, Wooyoung switched his attention from the congealed noodles in front of him to the animated conversation between Mingi and Yunho. He realized his mistake upon catching the phrase “goldfish heist”, and deciding he would prefer to claim plausible deniability on this one, he retreated back into his thoughts.

In reality, Wooyoung felt like shit. Ever since the arrival of the new patient three evenings ago, Wooyoung was stuck in a perpetual state of unease.

After spending a year on prescription drugs and therapy, he had finally gotten to a point where he truly believed he was actually improving. The progress sometimes felt like he was taking one step forward and three steps back, but over time, he was thrilled with how far he had managed to come.

When he was first admitted to Gonjiam at the age of nineteen, he was a mess. His fingernails were chewed to the nub, skin broken and bleeding in several places, a nervous habit he had picked up to channel his stress. He was incredibly withdrawn, almost nonverbal at times, and heavily guarded. His eyes were permanently glued to his feet, to keep himself from seeking out the one person that was always lurking somewhere in the room, watching him. He was constantly haunted by a presence that he knew others couldn’t see.

San.

That was his name.

Wooyoung had grown used to him - to his quiet presence constantly floating in one corner of his vision, to his tinkling voice asking him about his day, and to his instant mood swings and the anger that could burn deep within his eyes. He also had grown used to the questions about San. Wooyoung had learned very early on that nobody else could see the phantom. He can still remember the way his mother’s face dropped when she opened his bedroom door one night, asking who he was talking to, and he simply pointed to the empty chair across the room.

He had grown used to ignoring San when he was in high school, and San would trail along behind him, slamming on the occasional locker and scaring the shit out of whoever was nearby. He had grown used to the concerned questions from the therapist his mother encouraged him to visit, and to the questions from friends about why he always seemed to be gazing intently into thin air.

But he never got used to the rumors.

High school kids are notoriously the least accepting and understanding of any other demographic, choosing physical and emotional violence as a way to enforce a strict status quo and unforgiving to any who veer from it. What few friends he thought he had, would talk about him behind his back. He was privy to the constant rumors and gossip that was constantly circumnavigating the student body, and over time built bigger and thicker walls around himself, until he had safely hidden any vulnerability far out of reach from prying eyes and evil intentions. This didn’t mean that the rumors stopped; in fact, it fed them. He became known as the weird quiet kid who saw ghosts, a reputation which is essentially a death sentence in high school.

So, for Wooyoung, high school was a vicious hellscape.

More often than not, he returned home to his mother with bloody lips and the beginnings of a black eye. She would fret over him with a damp cloth and ice, he would shrug off her care and insist he was fine. He would resist any conversations she would bring up about switching schools, climb the stairs to his bedroom, lock the door, lie on his bed, stare at the ceiling, and cry, trying desperately to ignore the ghostly figure that would sit at the foot of his bed and watch him.

It hadn’t always been like this.

He can still remember, vaguely, what life was like before San, before the schizophrenia had slowly crept into his brain. Before then, he was confident, self-assured, and talented. He took dance classes and got straight A’s in school. He had no shortage of friends and couldn’t remember spending a Saturday at home. His mother adored him and took him to their cottage on the island for summer break. Wooyoung was invincible and life was good.

But then everything changed.

The demon arrived like the dusk that settles in after golden hour. He was like the winter that ever so slowly crept in and drained all the life of the green summer. He was like a thick black smoke that crept out from the very pits of hell and swallowed him whole.

It began so slowly, he hardly noticed at first.

At the start, it was no more than movement in the edge of his peripherals, which he discounted to be only shadows playing tricks on his eyes. Then, it was the soft voice whispering his name at night, which he assumed was just his overactive mind. Sometimes it was the movement of things that shouldn’t be moving, like books falling from the middle of the table, glasses of water being tipped over when no one was in the room, or his guitar in the corner softly being strummed as if by an invisible hand.

At first, he had assumed it was stress. He had just started high school, he was working part-time, he had exams to worry about on top of maintaining his social circles. At first, he could explain it.

Until suddenly he couldn’t.

One night he lay in bed, restless, unable to sleep, and unsure as to why. The evening was cool, but he still slept with his window open, the fresh breeze contrasting delightfully with his warm cocoon of blankets. The only sounds in his bedroom were the ticking of the clock on his dresser and the occasional car driving by outside his window. Wooyoung cracked his eyes open and risked a glance at his clock to find that it was already 3 AM. Groaning in frustration, he flopped his head back onto his pillow.

That’s when he saw him. Standing in the corner of his room, obscured by the shadows, and only visible from the faint glow of the city lights filtering through his curtain, was a pale figure. By physical appearance alone, it was a boy. The dim lighting distorted and blurred most of his features, but his skin was so incredibly pale, it almost appeared to glow.  
His hands hung limply by his side and his feet were bare. Not a single sound came from where he stood in the corner of the room, almost as though he didn’t even breathe. He stood so still, that Wooyoung tried to convince himself that it was his imagination. But there is no way in hell his imagination could have invented those eyes.

His eyes, as unmoving as the rest of his form, stared directly into Wooyoung’s.

And then he smiled.

A chill ran straight down Wooyoung’s spine, and before he knew what he was doing, he had already leaped across his bed to switch on the lamp.

The corner was empty.

Not just empty of creepy figures or random strangers, but completely empty. There wasn’t even a stray sock on the floor or a poster on the wall that Wooyoung could have misinterpreted to be a person. There was absolutely nothing there besides the two walls and the hardwood floor.

Deciding to keep the light on for the night, Wooyoung eventually persuaded himself to curl back up in his bed and try to fall back asleep, but it was futile. Despite the absence of any evidence, he could feel something off about the room. It wasn’t something he could explain, but he could _feel_ eyes watching him. The air suddenly felt colder, despite it being a warm evening, and Wooyoung’s eyes remained fixed on the same corner right up until the morning sun crept through the window.

And It only got worse from then on.

The shadows in his peripherals slowly morphed into the distinct silhouette of the boy. The whispers became unintelligibly mumbled sentences with Wooyoung’s name occasionally sprinkled in. The moving items became doors opening and closing in front of him, chairs being scraped across the floor as if pulled by an unseen hand, or light switches flipping into the on and off position. Things became harder and harder to explain until the point that Wooyoung finally had to admit that something was wrong.

He was fifteen years old the day he finally met San.

Wooyoung was sitting in his bathroom, clothing drenched from the torrential rain that was pounding on the roof of the house. Whether from the cold or his inner turmoil, he couldn’t stop his body from shaking. Tears fell down his cheeks and blended with the rainwater dripping from his hair. His knees were tucked up close to his chest, wrapped tightly with his arms, and he buried his face into his legs, sobbing furiously into the damp fabric.

Outside, the world lay dark and unaware of a child’s heart breaking. The rain on the rooftop drowned out the noise of his sobs, and he knew and truly understood that he was utterly and completely alone.  
When he had managed to bring his breathing back down to a more manageable level, he lifted his head from his knees and rubbed at his eyes, smudging the remnants of kohl across his cheeks. He loosened the fist of his right hand and peered down into the assorted mound of pills, slightly melted from his damp skin.

_No one wants you here anyways._

_Why don’t you just do the world a favour and kill yourself?_

_No one will even notice that you’re gone._

__  
Slapping his empty hand over his mouth, he muffled a painful sob, tears stinging his eyes and spilling down his red cheeks.

_Don’t you realize no one loves you?_

__  
Breathing deeply through his nose, he again tried to regulate his heart rate, willing himself to calm down. Once he’d contained himself, he began to meticulously count the pills again, carefully straightening them out in his hand. By the time the last one had been neatly placed beside the others, his breathing had levelled out and he felt an eerie sense of peace wash over himself, like a window opening in his mind and allowing an ocean breeze to flow in, pushing out the fog and mist and leaving him calm and resolute.

He was ready. This time he wouldn’t mess it up.

Slowly, his hand lifted to his open lips and paused directly in front. Breathing in deeply one last time, he mentally counted down.

_3… 2… 1…_

__  
His head tipped back, and one by one, the white pills fell onto his tongue. Reaching absently beside him, his hand found the cold glass of the soju bottle. Raising it to his mouth, he paused momentarily.

_I’m sorry, Mom. I should have been better._

__  
One final tear shone in his eye like a diamond, only to fall into his lap like a star falling from heaven. Then, he lifted the bottle, and swallowed deeply.

It only burned a little.

He closed his eyes. Hugged his legs tightly to his chest again, and waited. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was waiting for. Would it hurt? Would he feel anything at all? Would all the noise in his head just fade away to black? He didn’t know, but he was ready. Ready for the last escape he could try. The one thing he couldn’t mess up. The one thing he could finally do right.

Then he felt it. A cold breeze seemed to sweep into the room and wrap around him, causing goosebumps to prickle across his skin.

_Is this what dying feels like?_

__  
Ever so slowly, he raised his head from his knees, to take one last look at the world that caused him so much pain. His eyes widened.

Crouched on the floor directly in front of him was a boy.

He couldn’t be much older than Wooyoung, with glowing pale skin, tousled black hair, and a beautiful face with delicate features. His eyes, deep as the ocean and twice as beautiful, were sad. He was ethereal in every sense of the term.

The boy stretched out a porcelain hand and with utmost tenderness, cupped Wooyoung’s face and wiped a glimmering tear from his cheek. For a moment, they sat like that, just gazing into each other’s eyes.

Wooyoung’s voice came out as little more than a whisper.

“Are you an angel?”

The boy’s lips twitched and the sharp lines of his face softened. A small dimple appeared in his cheeks, and Wooyoung decided that there was no one on earth that could possibly be more beautiful.

“Something like that.”

Then, the boy slammed a fist into Wooyoung’s stomach. The force was so intense, it knocked him flat onto his back and forced all the air from his lungs. For a brief moment, he lay there, momentarily stunned and struggling for breath on the rug, before feeling a violent wave of nausea sweep over him. He had barely managed to haul his body to the toilet before he was heaving, regurgitating the contents of his stomach into the porcelain bowl. He remained there, hunched over the toilet, gasping for breath despite the sting in his chest. He was sweating and shivering uncontrollably, somehow feeling way too hot and way too cold at the same time. Black spots flashed in front of his eyes and he began to feel lightheaded.

From behind him, he could hear the sound of the bathroom tap turning on and off, followed by bare feet padding on the bathroom tiles. He heard the boy crouch down behind him, before a small hand found its way to his back and began to gently stroke.

A cup of water was presented to him with a brief command to _drink_ , to which Wooyoung numbly complied. It took several minutes for Wooyoung’s stomach to finally settle, during which he felt a soft cheek press against his shoulder blade, the hand still lightly rubbing circles into his back.

“Why did you do that?”

His voice came out hoarse and ragged.

“Oh Wooyoung.” His silky voice was muffled in his shoulder.

“It’ll take more than dying to get rid of me.”

-

The world outside the psych ward was warm and bright, a stark contrast to the dim halls and air conditioning of the hospital. It was shortly after lunch, so the sun was sitting at its zenith, directly overhead as it tends to do in mid-July. Wooyoung squinted up at the clouds through his fingers, his body spread lazily across the soft grass of the gardens, his other hand tucked under the back of his head and his legs crossed at the ankles.

“That one’s an anteater, for sure.”

A muffled snort came from the grass beside him. Yeosang pointed up at the sky, his hand briefly blocking the sunlight from Wooyoung’s face.

“Well, that one’s a Ninja fighting a bear.”

The humming of cicadas echoed through the gardens, as butterflies danced and swayed in the subtle breeze. It was one of those summer days when everything about the world just seems so beautiful and perfect, that it’s almost impossible to remember that winter could ever exist. It seems impossible to imagine that the sun could ever feel less warm, that the wind could ever be harsh and cold, that the ground could ever be coated in ice and snow.

Wooyoung rolled his head to the side and watched the boy lying beside him. From the first moment they’d met, Wooyoung had seen this light in Yeosang that he was constantly drawn to. No matter how much he’s tried, he could never put it into words or describe what it looked like, but he knew how it made him _feel_.

He was like a patch of sunshine that breaks through the rainclouds, or the warm breeze that sweeps any trace of cold away. Yeosang was the sparkle of dew on the grass in the morning, and the sound of the wind whispering in a forest of evergreens. Yeosang was small and delicate, incredibly soft-spoken, calm, and overflowing with kindness. But Wooyoung also knew that, like the wind, though Yeosang was gentle, he was also a force to be reckoned with.

The small, anxious boy had endured more than most people twice his size and twice his age could ever imagine. And Yeosang had walked out from the middle of that storm with kind eyes and a smile filled with nothing but good intentions. Yeosang, a child shown nothing but hatred, malice, and abuse, never once allowed himself to treat others the same way. He rebelled against the darkness that he emerged from by shining light into every corner of the world that he could reach. His heart, stepped on and discarded by far too many people, only grew and filled with love until it was bursting at the seams and spilling over into the soil that he walked on.

This boy, so hurt and broken by the world, never once stopped loving it with every fiber of his being and every ounce of his soul.

Wooyoung’s eyes were still wandering across Yeosang’s face, taking in every little detail, when the other turned to him, lips curving up into a little smile.

“You’re thinking again.”

Wooyoung flinched at the sudden movement, trying to control the flush that he knew was creeping into his cheeks at being caught in the act. Yeosang simply blinked at him, curiosity shining in his eyes.

“Is it about _him_?” He nodded his head towards the building.

Wooyoung shrugged, turning his gaze back to the sky, now less blinding as a cloud was blocking the sun.

“I don’t think I’m ever not thinking about him.”

“Elaborate.”

“I keep doubting myself. I mean, why shouldn’t I? The entire reason I’m here is because my brain makes up things that aren’t real. He’s a figment of my imagination, that nobody I’ve ever encountered could see, and now he’s supposed to just walk in here as a physical human patient?”

Yeosang hummed in response, but didn’t comment.

“I keep thinking I dreamed all of it, but clearly I didn’t because you were there. You saw him.”

“What made you think it was him? I couldn’t really see his face.”

Wooyoung shook his head.

“I’ve never recognized him by his appearance, as strange as that sounds. It’s more of a –” he paused, unsure himself of how to describe it.

“More of a feeling, I guess. Like, whenever he’s around, I just _know_ that he is. The world suddenly feels colder, darker, more muted. It’s like he’s the only thing in HD focus while the rest of the world becomes blurry. I just know that he’s here.”

Yeosang nodded, seeming to understand.

“And you never doubted it before? I mean, before you came here, you always knew when he was around, and you didn’t doubt that?”

He shook his head, “No, never. Even if I wasn’t looking directly at him, I always knew exactly where he would be.”

“So, that night...” he trailed off, face growing serious.

Wooyoung swallowed, mouth suddenly feeling too dry.

“He’s here.”

He turned his head again, two sets of anxious eyes locking.

Wooyoung could only watch as Yeosang’s face slowly blurred at the edges, features slightly distorting.

“I’m sure of it.”

-

The rushing of a single shower was the only noise breaking the silence of the washroom. Wooyoung was running his hands absently through his hair, washing away any leftover dirt and grime from his afternoon outside. He had ended up getting roped into a game of football with Mingi, Yunho, and Mingi’s roommate Jongho, and they believed strongly in full-contact sports, much to the chagrin of the poor nurses responsible for them. Needless to say, there was an unusual amount of dirt to scrub from some unusual places, and Wooyoung was one of the last patients in the showers. Fortunately, his nurse Seonghwa was an angel sent from heaven above, and he would sometimes let Wooyoung break his curfew if he asked nicely enough.

Tonight was one of those nights, with Wooyoung turning off the shower to find the bathroom gloriously empty, as all the other patients were already in their rooms. He towelled himself dry and pulled on a pair of grey sweatpants and a slightly oversized white t-shirt which clung to his torso wherever he had missed a patch of water.

Sliding his feet into his battered slippers, he shuffled out of the shower stall, one hand running the dull white towel through his hair and the other grabbing his toiletries from the stool outside. Arriving at the sink, he tossed his towel into the hamper, and looked up at the mirror, fogged over from the humidity of the shower.

He raised his hand and wiped a streak across the damp surface, clearing a visible patch. The blood drained from his face and he froze with his hand still raised when he found another pair of eyes looking back at him.

Behind him, leaning against the door to a shower stall, was San.

He was dressed in the white gown indicative of a patient in solitary confinement, feet bare, and skin ashen. His wild black hair was brushed back from his face, and his eyes glinted as he smiled back at Wooyoung, a small dimple appearing on his pale cheek.

“Did you miss me?”

The world around him grew dark, his wide eyes glued to the creature in the reflection behind him.

San pushed himself off the stall door and took a tentative step forwards, followed by another, eyes never leaving Wooyoung’s. He didn’t stop until they were nearly touching, and Wooyoung could feel breath ghosting across the back of his neck.

“I really missed you.”

Wooyoung was frozen to the spot, eyes glued to the mirror, when he felt a pair of familiar arms slowly wrap themselves around his waist, and a soft pair of lips graze his neck.

“I hope you missed me, too.”

He shuddered at the feeling of familiar warmth, eyes closing involuntarily, when his brain suddenly snapped back to reality.

This wasn’t right.

Wooyoung shoved the arms off him and spun around to push the creature away –

Only to find himself looking at an empty bathroom, eerily silent apart from the dripping of a showerhead and his own ragged breaths.  
Slowly, he turned back to the mirror, afraid of what he would find.

The mirror was fogged completely back over. Every trace of San was gone.

-

In his moleskin notebook that night, he wrote two short lines, before switching off the lamp and pulling his blanket up over his head, eyes clamped shut and praying sleep would take him quickly.

_There is no longer any doubt._

_San is here._


	3. Crazy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it turns out, I had WAY too much time on my hands this weekend. Chapter 4 will still be up on Friday as usual!  
> Enjoy!!

In a perfect world, calculus would be illegal.

Wooyoung was lying back on his bed, supported by a few pillows placed against the headboard, trying and desperately failing to understand the equation in front of him. He’d spent around 20 minutes of his day on this problem alone and was making pathetically minimal progress on the mountain of homework scattered across his desk. The playlist pumping through his headphones was currently on some new hip-hop track he hadn’t heard before, making him absently tap his pencil in rhythm with the beat.

As much as he hated the entire concept of a school building filled with angsty, hormone-riddled psychopathic teenagers, he really did love to learn. Wooyoung had a clever brain and usually enjoyed calculating and picking apart difficult problems like a puzzle and solving them. It was almost like a game.

Usually.

Today, however, he was stumped on this one particular problem, and could not, for the life of himself figure out what he was doing wrong. He eventually slumped back, head thumping softly against the wall behind him, and lowered his book over his eyes, blocking out the light.

“I’m not sure humans can absorb information like that, but, hey, kudos to you for trying.”

He groaned at the sound of the all-too-familiar voice. Sitting up, and letting the book fall from his face, he lifted off the headphones and slipped them around his neck.

“What do you want?” He didn’t even bother looking up at the boy as San silently paced over to his bed and crawled on, the mattress dipping beneath him.

San just shrugged.

“Wanted to see you. I’m awfully bored when you ignore me.”

He moved up the bed to peer over Wooyoung’s knees at the paper on his lap. If looks could kill, Wooyoung was pretty sure that he would have set this paper on fire already by sheer contempt.  
“This fraction is wrong. You’re supposed to put the inverse of it.”

Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed skeptically at the boy in front of him. Rather than waiting for a reply, San took his pencil and began to solve the equation for him.

Sure enough, it worked perfectly. Wooyoung gaped.

“How did you do that?”

San shrugged and smiled at him innocently, “What? I know how math works.”

“Yeah, but like,” Wooyoung leaned back on his arms, “aren’t you supposed to be me? Like, my subconscious? Wouldn’t that mean you’re only supposed to know the things that I know?”

Something glinted in San’s eyes as he smirked up at him.

“I don’t think you understand how I work.”

Laughing his usual tinkly laugh, San crawled over until he was curled up into Wooyoung’s side. He felt warm and soft to the touch, and Wooyoung subconsciously leaned in. San plucked the papers from his lap and put them on the bedside table, pulling Wooyoung’s head to rest on his shoulder.

“Enough of that nonsense, tell me about your day.”

“You weren’t there? Don’t you, like, live in my brain?”

San scoffed, “I don’t care enough to pay attention 24/7. Sometimes I like to wander around and stretch my legs.”

The creature’s hand moved to Wooyoung’s hair and began slowly carding through. Wooyoung’s eyes drifted closed and he felt his body relaxing at the other’s touch.

“Well, classes were boring as usual. I had chemistry today, which usually isn’t that bad, but we had to work in partners, and people don’t usually like me that much. I was paired with a really nice girl though, who even offered to have lunch with me, so it wasn’t that bad. Though, I’m not sure if she knew my reputation. That might have changed her attitude.”

At the mention of a girl, San’s hand stopped running through Wooyoung’s locks. He could feel the creature tense up beside him, and suddenly grew nervous.

He hated when San was like this.

When San was in a good mood, he was incredibly kind. But his emotions could change like the swing of a pendulum, quickly and without warning, and when the pendulum reached the opposite side, Wooyoung was terrified of the boy. When he was angry, San was unrecognizable, becoming as wild and unpredictable as nature herself. And Wooyoung had grown to realize it took very little to push him there.

San was in constant balance on a delicate tightrope, suspended far above a bottomless chasm. As long as he was in balance, everything was fine. He would show up whenever Wooyoung was feeling sad or alone, and he would ask him questions, cuddle into his arms, and pepper kisses across Wooyoung’s face until he smiled.

However, if the slightest breeze caught San the wrong way, he could so easily tip and fall, plummeting into the abyss of rage and fury, blinded by the darkness and unreachable by Wooyoung’s outstretched arms.

The San he knew had two faces, and over time, he only began to realize how little he knew about either one.

The creature beside him was still sitting, rigid and still, and Wooyoung knew what his face would look like if he was brave enough to turn and see it. A shadow would have slowly spread across his features, and his eyes would have become as black as the night, filled with an inhuman emotion that he could explain only as empty.

Finally, San spoke.

“What did she want from you?” His voice was steady, but dripping with contempt.

“Nothing!” He responded almost too quickly, in his efforts to deescalate the situation, “She was just an assigned partner for class. I don’t even remember her name!”

“Was she pretty?”

Wooyoung’s head turned involuntarily,

“What?”

San’s eyes were fixed somewhere straight ahead, face stone still and eerily void of emotion.

“Do you like her?”

“N-no, it’s not anything like that, San, I don’t even know her… I don’t even remember what she looked like. I swear!”

San paused, unmoving, eyes transfixed in front of him. When he spoke, his voice was small, but his tone was final, “Never see her again.”

“… W-what?”

Finally, the creature, turned his anxious eyes to Wooyoung, who was relieved to see a familiar glimmer in them, characteristic of the San he was used to.

“Please,” he whispered, hand moving up to cup Wooyoung’s face, “Please do it for me.”

Earnestly, San’s eyes darted across his face, finger lightly stroking his cheek.

“I- I don’t understand…?” Wooyoung started before he was abruptly cut off.

San leaned in, ever so slowly, and kissed him.

Wooyoung froze in place, unable to breathe, only aware of the feeling of soft lips brushing against his own and San’s slow breath on his face. The creature lingered briefly against his lips, before breaking the kiss and pulling back slightly. For a moment, they sat there, just breathing the same air, and Wooyoung swore he could hear the sound of his own heartbeat echoing through the room. Two pairs of eyes uncertainly searched each other’s faces, when a shaking hand slipped from Wooyoung’s face to the back of his neck.

Before he realized what he was doing, Wooyoung had leaned back in, closing the distance again.

They kissed slowly and languidly, lips parting just enough to taste the other, Wooyoung’s arms instinctively wrapping around him, pulling San closer.

Wooyoung had no idea what he was doing. Somewhere between them, in the metaphorical sand, there had long been a line, on which they constantly danced, but had never crossed. Countless nights Wooyoung had fallen asleep in the creature’s arms, feeling fingers play with his hair until sleep finally pulled him under. Countless afternoons Wooyoung had found himself wrapped in a warm hug after coming home from school crying, and countless chaste kisses had dabbed the tears away until everything was better.

But this was new territory that neither before had dared to enter.

Since the day he first laid eyes on him, Wooyoung had thought San was beautiful. He never once denied that. But he denied himself from considering anything further than an objective appreciation for the boy. It was one thing to enjoy the company of a product of your imagination, but it was something else altogether to become romantically involved with your imaginary friend, and Wooyoung liked to think he had a shred of sanity left.

But now, finding himself holding the apparition in his arms and feeling San’s warm lips lazily working against his own, Wooyoung didn’t know if sanity was even an option anymore.

Finally, San pulled back, just enough to rest their foreheads against each other. His eyes were still lidded and their lips faintly brushed when he spoke.

“I love you, Wooyoung.”

His voice was little more than a breath whispered between them,

“Please, don’t forget that you’re mine.”

  


-

  


_Don’t forget that you’re mine._

  


__

Wooyoung awoke with little recollection of his dream, other than that single phrase, repeating itself over and over in his mind.

Opening his eyes, he slowly watched the world drift into focus and noticed that the sun was just beginning to peek through the thick curtain of the window. It must have been early, well before 7 AM at least, but he found himself unable to fall back asleep.

Then, he felt movement beside him and glanced down to find Yeosang’s sleeping face curled up against his neck, one hand resting in the middle of Wooyoung’s chest. His face was so peaceful when he slept. His breathing was slow and relaxed, and his lips were parted ever-so-slightly. Wooyoung lifted a hand to sweep back a lock of the boy’s fluffy brown hair that had fallen across his forehead.

__

_Don’t forget that you’re mine._

His hand involuntarily snapped away from Yeosang’s head, as though it had been burned. Suddenly finding it hard to breathe, he carefully extracted himself from the smaller boy’s limbs and crawled out of bed, only pausing to pull the warm blanket completely over Yeosang, watching as he subconsciously snuggled deeper into it.

Wooyoung quickly pulled on some clean sweatpants and a hoodie, jammed his feet into his slippers, and left the room, easing the door shut behind him.

It was only as he stepped out of his room, that Wooyoung realized he didn’t actually know where he planned to go. All he knew was that his room had felt far too claustrophobic, and he needed to escape, to clear his head. Since it was still quite early and the halls were still pleasantly empty, he allowed his mind to wander and his feet to lead the way.

Often when Wooyoung was overwhelmed, he wandered the yellowed halls of the hospital, finding that the monotone, identical corridors blended nicely into a blank canvas over which he could untangle his thoughts. The silence of the hospital in the early morning hours was also appreciated. Occasionally, as he passed by a barred window, he could catch a glimpse of the sky as the sun slowly dyed it in hues of rose and gold.

While his feet carried him along, Wooyoung tried to remember the dream he’d woken up from, but to no avail. All he could recall was a vague sense of home, a feeling he hadn’t been able to replicate since entering Gonjiam.

_Home._

__  
_Where is that?_  
  
Throughout his life, Wooyoung had moved so frequently with his parents as his father changed jobs, that he never had the luxury of calling a particular building his home. To him, they were just walls, creaky floorboards, and leaky roofs. Everything in life was temporary, and a home… a home isn’t temporary. Home is where you belong.

__

Where do I belong?

Wooyoung had come to another window, slightly fogged from the chill of the morning. Moving his face up to the pane, he watched the world slowly unfold into gold and green, the leaves glittering like emeralds in the early morning dew.

At first, Wooyoung had wondered if Gonjiam would ever be his home. He wondered if the blank walls and stained couches and uncomfortable noises would ever begin to feel comfortable. He used to think that maybe he would finally find a sense of belonging when he surrounded himself with others who were broken, like himself. However, the longer he stayed, the more he felt the need to leave. The more comfortable he felt in the musty common room watching nature documentaries with the other patients, the more he knew that he didn’t belong here. But if not here, then where? Where would he go?  
His mind drifted to think of his mother. Despite the constant upheaval of his childhood, his mother was his one constant. No matter how they were doing financially, no matter whether his father was drunk or sober, no matter where in the world they were living, she was always gentle, and she was always kind. His mother was his stability, his comfort, his safety… His _home_

.  
Three hundred and eighty-six days. That’s the last time he saw her. The last time he had been home.

Turning from the window, he continued his mindless trek through the hallways, letting his feet continue to guide the way.

No matter how hard he thought, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his mother. He remembered that morning, kissing her on the cheek before leaving for school. He remembered finding the note she had placed in his lunch bag. It was short, just a simple I love you with a little smiley face underneath. He remembered putting the note in the pocket of his jacket. He remembered walking home, and he remembered being visited by...

_Wooyoung._

He startled, blinking himself back into reality. He had suddenly found himself at the dead-end of a hallway he had never been to before. Looking around, he briefly wondered how he got there.

 _Wooyoung._  
In front of him, at the end of the hallway, was a door. A blank door, with no windows or signs, just a simple metal doorknob. The longer he stared at the door, the more the rest of the hallway fell out of focus. Wooyoung took a few tentative steps forward, glancing around to see if anyone was watching, but the floor seemed eerily vacant.

Closer, he crept, until the door stood directly in front of him, close enough to touch. He lifted his hand and clasped the doorknob.

The world around him blurred and distorted at the edges, everything in his peripherals seeming to blend together until all he could see clearly was the handle.

It turned.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and jerked him backward, away from the door.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Wooyoung knew that voice.

In front of him stood his psychiatrist, Dr. Kim Jeongsu. He was an older man, with white hair and a sharp nose on which a pair of thick round glasses were always perched. He was dressed in his standard uniform of a long white lab coat and a plaid tie, and in his arm, he held a thick folder of papers.

“What are you doing in this ward, Wooyoung? Have you been given permission to roam the halls this early in the morning?”

Nervously, Wooyoung stared at his feet and shook his head, quickly mumbling out an apology. The doctor’s voice softened.

“Report to Seonghwa. Don’t be roaming off into wards you don’t belong in, alright? It’s for your own safety.”

“Yes, sir.”

The doctor sent him on his way, but Wooyoung couldn’t help a quick glance back at the door. At the end of the hall, the doctor had pushed it open and was entering the room. Through the small crack of the doorway, Wooyoung saw him.

San was hunched on the floor in the middle of an empty white room, black hair messily hiding his face from view. He was still wrapped in the grey straight jacket and his legs and feet were bare and crossed beneath him.

His head snapped up.

They locked eyes.

Then, the door swung shut, punctuating the silence of the floor with a soft _click_.

Tearing his eyes from the door, Wooyoung turned and headed back in the direction of his ward, immediately gripped with a new sense of unease.

-

At the nursing station, Wooyoung was greeted by a sleepy-looking Seonghwa. Realizing that company sounded much nicer than being alone with his thoughts, he walked over and rested his chin on the high counter, peering down at the nurse.

“Do you even sleep?”

Seonghwa shot him a smile, “Look who’s talking. What are you doing up so early?”

Wooyoung tried to think of an explanation, but, honestly, didn’t really know either so he just shrugged.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Seonghwa’s face was sympathetic and he gestured to the empty chair beside him.

“Want to keep me company, then? I have tea.”

Smiling gratefully, Wooyoung shuffled around the counter and sat back in the padded desk chair, accepting the foam cup of tea Seonghwa poured for him.

For a few lovely moments, they just sat in silence, watching as the sun slowly edged higher in the sky and the hallways grew progressively brighter.

Wooyoung always had a deep appreciation in his heart for the older man. Unlike his previous nurse, Seonghwa seemed to know exactly what to say or how to act around him. He never talked to Wooyoung as though he were a child or a criminal but, rather, as a friend. He didn’t treat him as a lost cause but as an equal. Over time, Wooyoung had grown used to having pitying looks directed towards him, but never once did he find pity in Seonghwa’s face. In the nurse’s smile, he found only hope. He found confidence that one day, things could be normal. And for that, he appreciated the nurse more than he could ever say.

“What’s been on your mind lately?” Seonghwa finally broke the comfortable silence while casually flipping through his planner.

“Far too much.”

He laughed, “I believe that. Anything, in particular, you want to talk about? Our conversations are confidential. I never tell your therapist anything unless you ask me to.”

Wooyoung chewed on the rim of his Styrofoam cup, mulling over his thoughts,

“I don’t know… I’m still trying to figure it out myself. I don’t know how to talk about it without people just thinking I’m crazy,” he huffed and set his cup down on the counter, leaning back in his chair, “Seonghwa, am I crazy?”

The nurse paused, about to fill another appointment into the neat ledger, and turned to Wooyoung with a warm smile.

“Where’s this coming from all of a sudden?”

Wooyoung looked down at his hands, embarrassed to make eye contact with the older man.

“I just – I’ve only ever heard that growing up. That I’m crazy. That I’m seeing things that don’t exist, so I must be crazy.”

Seonghwa opened his mouth to respond, but Wooyoung couldn’t stop the flow of words now that he had begun.

“But… What if there was a chance that I’m not actually crazy?”

He lifted his head to face the silent nurse,

“What if this whole time, it wasn’t just my imagination?”

Seonghwa’s eyes were wide, cup to his lips, but paused mid-sip.

“Seonghwa, what if he’s real? What then?”

Slowly, the nurse lowered the cup, “What are you saying, Wooyoung?”

“The boy in isolation. The new one who arrived last week,” Wooyoung swallowed thickly, “What’s his name?”

Truth be told, he was terrified to hear the answer- terrified to hear that one name that would confirm either his worst nightmare, that San was real, or his biggest fear, that his Schizophrenia was just getting worse. Regardless of the outcome, it was bad.

Seonghwa had opened his mouth to respond when the face of a small brunette boy peeked over the top of the counter.

“Good morning S– oh…” he seemed uncomfortable realizing Wooyoung was sitting there, “Sorry, I, ah, didn’t mean to interrupt… I’ll go…”

Seonghwa’s face noticeably softened, and he shot an apologetic smile to the boy.

“Good morning, Hongjoong. Don’t worry about it. I’ll come to see you shortly, all right?”

A small smile spread across the boy’s face and he nodded at the nurse before wandering over to the common room across the hall and curling up on one of the couches, switching on the TV.

Seonghwa’s smile dropped slightly once the other left, and he turned back, concern in his eyes.

“I’m really sorry, but I have to go now… can we talk more about this later? We don’t have to, but I would like to follow up if you’re comfortable with that.”

Wooyoung nodded weakly.

“Sure.”

“Oh, but, before I forget,” he turned back, “His name is San. Choi San.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> K I'm dying to know: Team Woosan or Team Woosang?  
> And if you have any theories of what's going on, I would love to hear them!!  
> Thanks again for reading <3
> 
> xo Versace


	4. Operation: Goldfish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!!

_His name is San._

Wooyoung was curled into an armchair in the common room, eyes fixed on the television, but his mind was anywhere else. He couldn’t shake the awful feeling in his chest that appeared the moment those four words fell from Seonghwa’s mouth.

At the time, he didn’t even know what he was asking. He didn’t know what the knowledge would accomplish. Yet now, having heard that dreaded name spoken aloud, he felt almost… peaceful? No, peaceful definitely wasn’t the right word, what with the nausea currently coursing through him, but he did feel strangely lighter.

For the past week Wooyoung had been constantly on edge. He knew that San was back. That wasn’t debatable. However, there had still been two possibilities for that: the worsening of his schizophrenia, or the miniscule chance that San could actually be real. Both options were, of course, absolutely terrible, but at least now he had an answer. San was real. San was a physical person. San was not a figment of his imagination. This was now fact.

One of his most pressing questions had been answered, but it was as though Wooyoung had finally unlocked one door only to find hundreds upon thousands more behind it. Now he had even more questions, and a part of him wondered if he even wanted to know all the answers.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know who San really was.

San had always been surrounded in mystery, which Wooyoung eventually just grew to accept. He didn’t know who San was, he didn’t know where San came from, and he didn’t know why San even appeared in the first place. Eventually, the unknowns became almost comforting, because if he didn’t know the answers, he could convince himself they didn’t matter. He could believe that they never would matter.

Eventually, Wooyoung had managed to convince himself that he was just crazy, and that maybe, over time, he would get better and San would simply go away. In fact, after his time in Gonjiam and the progress he had been making, this had seemed to be the case. Throughout the months, San’s presence had grown progressively dimmer, to the point that Wooyoung hardly was aware of it anymore.  
_What changed?_

“Whatcha doing?”

A familiar sleepy voice murmured from beside him. Wooyoung looked up to see Yeosang in the doorway, dressed in a fresh short-sleeved pajama set, blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He shuffled over to Wooyoung before plopping himself down on his lap, leaning back against his chest. Automatically, Wooyoung wrapped his arms around the boy’s thin waist and rested his chin on his shoulder.

“You were up early… couldn’t sleep?” Yeosang’s voice, unusually deep for someone his size at a normal hour, was even deeper in the mornings and his subtle lisp a little more pronounced.

Shaking his head, _no_ , Wooyoung hummed and allowed his eyes to fall closed, burying his nose into Yeosang’s shoulder. He smelled like a mixture of laundry detergent and baby powder. He smelled like home.

As the boy’s body relaxed into his arms, and the muted sounds of the television filled the silence of the room, Wooyoung’s mind drifted back to San.

Ever since the creature had arrived that first fateful night, Wooyoung had been terrified to have his nightmare voiced aloud. He had been terrified to hear that name from any other lips than his own.

This was real. This was too real.

It was as though hearing San’s name spoken aloud had given the creature access to reality that he couldn’t otherwise possess. If Wooyoung never mentioned San to other people, he could convince himself that San was not real, and in turn, San almost seemed to become weaker. When Wooyoung pretended San didn’t exist, the phantom would become fainter, almost translucent, and his appearances became less frequent. However, if Wooyoung was asked about him, asked if San was nearby, or asked of his name – basically, whenever Wooyoung consciously had to think about San and intentionally seek him out… then San became strong.

Over time, he learned to cope with this information.

The more attention he paid San, the more attention San required, almost as though he fed on it, so Wooyoung learned to ignore him as much as he could. Unfortunately, this was far easier said than done. The more tactics Wooyoung developed to push San away, the more cunning San’s techniques of reclaiming his attention became.

It became a constant battle of tug-of-war, with Wooyoung making a few steps of progress before San would change strategies and reclaim the lost ground. Every day of his life was a struggle for control, to the point that eventually Wooyoung would wonder why he even bothered to resist.

San always struck at night, or in the evenings, after school, when he knew Wooyoung was mentally exhausted and looking for a distraction. He never appeared in the morning, and would only appear briefly throughout the day, occasionally wanting to spend Wooyoung’s lunch hour with him.

He actually found himself preferring those days, as his reputation as the resident freak generally prevented him from having friends to eat with anyways. It became almost pleasant to sit under the soccer bleachers with San, out of sight from any passers-by, and just listen to the creature ramble happily.

In the beginning, San just wanted to be _seen_ , opening doors and knocking over books as though he needed Wooyoung to actively search out the source, but over time, it was apparent that he also wanted to be _liked_. It wasn’t enough for Wooyoung to acknowledge his existence. The creature wanted Wooyoung to desire his presence, to _crave_ it.

The scariest part, Wooyoung often found himself thinking, was that over time, he did.

If San didn’t show up for lunch, Wooyoung found himself tucked in the corner of the library, a hollow feeling in his stomach. At night while doing homework, he’d occasionally find himself looking up from his work and scanning the room, watching the hours tick by until he finally showed up. And on the off-chance that he didn’t show up, Wooyoung would feel almost… disappointed.

At the bottom of everything, Wooyoung was lonely. Wooyoung was lonely and San was kind. No matter how much he had tried to convince himself otherwise, he needed San. He needed the company, the kindness, the steady presence always beside him.

No matter how much he wanted to push him away, he never did.

And the more time passed, the more he began to doubt that he ever fully could.

Wooyoung complained when Yeosang suddenly wiggled free, slipping off his lap, but stopped when a little hand appeared in front of him, open and waiting for Wooyoung to take it. When he looked up, Yeosang was smiling down at him.

“They just opened the cafeteria, let's go see if there’s coffee.”

The sun was now higher in the sky, and the golden light surrounded the boy. At that moment, Wooyoung swore he had a halo. And honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

Hesitating for just a moment, Wooyoung reached up and clasped his hand.

But he could only watch as Yeosang’s smiling face glitched and blurred in front of him like a lens falling out of focus. The hand in his felt too small, too fragile, and helplessly, he gripped it tighter as the world around him began to dim.

In the corner of his eye, Wooyoung could see the hazy silhouette of a boy watching him, unmoving and unblinking. Gritting his teeth, he forced his eyes to remain fixed on Yeosang, knowing all too well the expression he would see in San’s face should he turn to look.

He allowed Yeosang to pull him forwards, blindly stumbling after him through the hallway until he felt the looming presence dissipate from his peripherals like mist into the morning.

But the empty pang in his chest remained.

_Please…_

_Don’t forget._

-

The afternoon was restless.

Normally, Wednesday afternoons were scheduled outdoor time, with activities and games and sports and sunshine. Today, however, the clouds had slowly crept in shortly before noon, and with them, the soft patter of raindrops and occasional low roll of thunder. For miles, the sky above was grey and daunting, and the chance of rain stopping was depressingly low.

So instead, the patients found themselves crammed into the common room, antsy and eager to be anywhere else, yet willing to try and make the best of it.

Wooyoung was trying to read. Keyword: trying.

Usually, it wasn’t a problem for him to shut off his ties to reality and transport himself to whichever paper world he held in his hands, but today he was distracted by the two tall giggling boys sitting huddled together on the sofa opposite him.

Yunho and Mingi held a paper between the two of them, occasionally sketching furiously with one of the three crayons on the coffee table. Mingi whispered something to Yunho under his breath, he would shake his head and whisper something in response, to which the other would add another scribble to the paper. Wooyoung nudged Yeosang with his foot.

“What do you think they’re doing?”

Yeosang currently was nose deep in a word search puzzle, pink crayon hovering over the jumbled letters. He mumbled a response that sounded somewhere between “I don’t care” and “how should I know” before meticulously circling another word.

“You haven’t heard of Operation Goldfish?”

Wooyoung looked up to see Jongho’s eyes peering over the top of the chair by the TV.

“It rings a bell.”

There was a flurry of movement before Jongho was sitting backward in his chair facing him.

“So, you know the nurse from the second floor?”

Wooyoung did. Anyone who’d had the misfortune of wandering the second floor knew who she was. The old woman was notoriously evil, with beady eyes, a constantly pinched expression, and claw-like hands who yelled at any unfortunate patients who found themselves on the second floor. Once, Yeosang had to fetch something from her for Seonghwa, and she had nearly brought him to tears berating him for interrupting the drama she was watching. Wooyoung thought she might be the devil incarnate.

“I’m familiar with her.”

“Well,” Jongho lowered his voice to a tone of secrecy, “Rumor has it, she used hospital money to buy herself a fish for her office. So, those two lunatics are plotting to steal it.”

“Hey!” Yunho’s head shot up from the page, a scandalized expression on his face.

“We’re not stealing, we’re _borrowing_ it.”

Mingi’s head followed,

“Yeah, we’re gonna put it back.”

“My bad,” Jongho turned back to Wooyoung with a completely straight face, “Those two lunatics are going to borrow the goldfish, and then put it back.”

At that moment, a tired-looking nurse walked in, causing Mingi and Yunho to frantically sweep all of their papers out of sight, and Jongho to flop back down in his seat properly. After eyeing the room warily for a few moments, the nurse turned to Yeosang.

“Just a reminder that your session with Dr. Kim is in thirty minutes.”

Peering up from his puzzle, Yeosang nodded, mumbling a quick thank you. Wooyoung watched the boy, recognizing the distant expression that took over his face once the nurse left the room. Reaching over, he clasped the boy’s small hand in his own, noticing how cold it felt. He wrapped it between his hands, rubbing lightly to warm it up, but Yeosang didn’t react.

“Hey.”

Yeosang’s eyes darted over, but he was silent.

“How are you doing?” The tone of his voice conveyed the depth of his message, the unspoken: how are you _really_ doing? that transcends the pleasantry.

Yeosang’s eyes dropped to his lap, but he didn’t move his hand away.

“It’s getting better.”

Still stroking his hand, Wooyoung waited for him to continue. Yeosang took his time whenever he had to translate his thoughts into words, a process Wooyoung had learned couldn’t be rushed. He never just said the first things that came to his mind, unlike Wooyoung. Rather, Yeosang spoke the way he solved his puzzles: slowly, methodically, and deliberately. He was careful at everything he did, covering all his bases and ensuring that every word he hand-picked conveyed exactly the message he intended. So, Wooyoung waited patiently.

He always wondered how they worked as well as they did together. Where Yeosang was cautious, Wooyoung was reckless; where Yeosang was methodical, Wooyoung was disorganized; where Yeosang was reserved, Wooyoung couldn’t hold back.

Yeosang was like the steady trickle of a stream, so constant and meticulous that over time, he could carve pathways across a landscape and cut through the hardest stone. And while Yeosang was a stream, Wooyoung was the ocean. Wild, chaotic, haphazard, and unpredictable, he followed his heart like the riptides and allowed himself to push, pull, dive as deeply as his lungs allowed, and burst against the shores in bubbling laughter or a furious crashing temper.

But ultimately, as every steady river eventually flows to meet the raging sea, Yeosang in his never-failing consistency always came back to Wooyoung, and Wooyoung, with his reckless arms like foaming waves reaching for the untouchable shores, always opened to take him in. The fresh and salt water mingling in the way their limbs curled together in slumber. The way Yeosang now interlaced their fingers, before turning his freshwater eyes to meet Wooyoung’s.

“I still think about him sometimes.”

“Your dad?”

Yeosang nodded. “I can’t help but think I’m a terrible son,” he fell silent for a few moments before finally adding in a whisper, “because I’m happy that he’s gone.”

His eyes looked so tired. Wooyoung wordlessly pulled the boy into a hug, letting Yeosang rest his chin on his shoulder.

“Sangie, you could never in a thousand lifetimes be a terrible son. He was just a terrible father. That’s not your fault.”

Yeosang didn’t respond, a signal Wooyoung knew to mean the conversation was over, but he stayed curled in Wooyoung’s arms, sharing his warmth until the nurse returned to pick him up for his private therapy session.

“Be strong, okay?”

Yeosang turned back to squeeze his hand and smiled,

“Thank you.”

And as he walked away, he held his shoulders just a little bit higher and walked with a step that was a little bit longer.

Watching Yeosang’s silhouette disappear down the corridor, Wooyoung suddenly became aware of the wave of exhaustion washing over him. Whether from his fitful sleep, the early morning, or the mental exertion that his new discovery had brought, he couldn’t quite say, but his mind felt foggy and his eyelids heavy. He wandered over to the nursing station to find Seonghwa.

After a brief interaction involving the young nurse fretting over him – checking his temperature, fetching him a cup of juice, and watching adamantly as Wooyoung forced it down – and plenty of reassurance on Wooyoung’s behalf that _yes, I’m fine, no really, just tired_ , he was finally granted permission to retreat to his unit for a short nap. He hastily scurried back to his room, not bothering to change out of his sweatpants and hoodie, and buried himself deep in his blankets. Before long, he felt his mind blurring at the edges, succumbing to the sensation and melting fully into a peaceful slumber.

-

_Wooyoung._

He sat up, blinking in the darkness of the room. As his eyes slowly adjusted, he tried to remember what had woken him so abruptly. Had he been dreaming? It was possible.

Outside, the rain was still falling, a soft patter that could be heard from where it hit the windowpane. The world outside was as dark and dreary as it had been all afternoon, yet the darkness inside the room felt unnaturally so. It was thick, almost heavy to touch. Wooyoung lifted a hand to his eyes, rubbing the sleep from them blearily. His brain was still clutching to the lingering traces of sleep, and he felt strangely relaxed.

Finally, once he assumed his eyes should be adjusted to the lighting, he dropped his hand from his eyes.

His heart dropped as he immediately found the reason for his waking.

A pale figure was sitting, cross-legged at the foot of his bed.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

San’s voice was different, deeper than usual.

“Did you sleep well?”

Speechless, Wooyoung just stared, suddenly unsure if he was actually awake after all. At his lack of response, the creature unfolded his legs, creeping closer to sit just at Wooyoung’s bent knees. Wooyoung shrunk deeper into his blankets at the sudden closeness.

From up close, Wooyoung could make out San’s features, slightly distorted from the dark, but recognizable nonetheless. His iridescent skin seemed to glimmer in the darkness, and his eyes shone. The creature watched him the way a cat watches their prey, unmoving and with undeniable intention. Yet in all his intensity, Wooyoung wasn’t afraid.

Regardless of how much he wanted to push him away, to lock him out, he couldn’t find it in him to do so. Despite how much he tried to ignore him, to pretend he hated his company, to force him out of his mind, he couldn’t stop his heart from racing a little faster, his breath from growing a little deeper, and his heart becoming a little more pliant after one look into those eyes.

Somewhere in between them, there was an invisible force pulling them ever closer, a bond Wooyoung just couldn’t bring himself to break.

“What are you doing here?” he barely managed to rasp the words out.

San placed his hands on the other boy’s knees, thumb rubbing absently across them overtop of the blanket. The phantom’s face was sad.

“Why did you leave me?”

Wooyoung opened his mouth, but couldn’t speak.

“I always liked you so much, why did you leave me?” His eyes, as vast as the starry night, searched Wooyoung’s face, as though trying to read his thoughts, “Don’t you like me too?”

While San was beautiful in daylight, in the dark, he was ethereal. His pale skin shone like thousands of glittering constellations in the light peeking through the curtain, and his eyes held the fires of a thousand supernovas. They were no less deadly.

A hand formerly resting on Wooyoung’s knee slipped up, under his sweater, to his chest. Wooyoung’s breath hitched unintentionally at the contact. Before he realized what was happening, San had leaned closer, eyes lidded, until their faces were mere inches apart. When the creature finally spoke again, his voice was low and laced with something dangerous – something Wooyoung had heard only a few times before.

“I’ve always wanted you so much.”

A pair of lips grazed his, so softly that in the back of his mind, a part of him wondered if he was still dreaming.

The hand on his chest slowly dipped lower, only stopping once fingers grazed the waistband of his sweatpants. Another graze of lips. He shivered at the contact.

_“Don’t you want me, too?”_

Then, the door clicked and swung open, light from the hallway flooding the room, illuminating a small silhouette from behind.

There was stony silence for several moments, San’s form still hovering over Wooyoung, unmoving, but now turned to watch the figure in the doorway.

“W-Wooyoung…?” Yeosang’s voice was smaller than he’d ever heard it before,

“What is he doing in here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun DUN
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has read the story so far, and a HUGE thank you to everyone that has left kudos and comments!!  
> You are all so lovely and I'm so happy you're enjoying the story so far!
> 
> Stay safe, and I'll see you next week!  
> xo Versace


	5. Folie à deux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this chapter while deep in an allergy-induced brain fog so if anything doesn't make sense, let me know!
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!  
> xo Versace

The office was too white, too clean, too sterile.

Four windowless walls devoid of personality or character. No photographs, no paintings, no knick-knacks whatsoever. A heavy bookcase sat in the corner filled with medical literature, along with a few filing cabinets with numbered labels down the front and an occasional chip in the paint. The only decorations in the entire room was a potted fern in the corner and a single photograph of a little girl on the weathered wooden desk.

The LED lights stung Wooyoung’s eyes and the smell of cleaning supplies burned his nose. The only sound breaking the horrible silence was the never-ending tick of the clock on the wall.  
_Tick_

_Tock_

_Tick_

He was restless. He couldn’t calm his whirlwind of thoughts or slow his racing heart. To say he was stressed, would be an understatement. There was so much more.

Turning his head, he locked eyes with an equally anxious Seonghwa, sitting off to the side in one of the deep wooden chairs with the uncomfortable leather cushions. The nurse’s brows were knit closely together and he absently was playing with his lip as he flipped aimlessly through the contents of his clipboard.

From across the desk, the rustling of papers drew Wooyoung’s attention back to the doctor seated there in his white lab coat and plaid tie. Dr. Kim’s glasses were sitting low on the bridge of his nose and he was flipping through some folders, underlining certain things and pausing occasionally to jot bullet points in his notebook. Then, he closed the folder, pulling his notebook closer. He sat there for a moment in thought before finally breaking the uneasy silence of the room.

“Folie à deux.”

Beside Wooyoung, Seonghwa jerked in his seat.

“What?”

The doctor’s eyes flickered up to meet both of theirs.

“Folie à deux. Also known as Shared Psychotic Disorder. It can occur in instances when a primary individual diagnosed with a psychotic disorder is in a close relationship with a second individual and frequently push their delusion on them. Should the secondary individual spend an inordinate amount of the time with the first and have few other meaningful relationships, the delusion of the first can, in rare instances, actually be transmitted to the second.”

Seonghwa was silent for a few moments, processing the doctor’s statement.

“So… what are you saying?”

Dr. Kim turned his calculating gaze to Wooyoung.

“How much time do you and Yeosang spend together?”

Wooyoung swallowed, “Most of it, sir.”

“And you share a room, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“To the best of your knowledge, does Yeosang have any other relationships that are anywhere near as intimate or important to him as your own?”

Wooyoung’s eyes fell to his hands loosely clasped in his lap, “… No, sir.”

The doctor nodded and scribbled a few more lines in his notebook. He turned back to the nurse.

“Seonghwa, I’m concerned that the two of them spend too much of their time together. Neither has any other stable relationships in their lives, and both carry the weight of an unfortunate amount of psychotic issues and personality disorders. To be frank, I don’t think it’s healthy,” he flipped a page in his notebook, “Yeosang is in an extremely sensitive place. His treatments have been going well, but he’s still not mentally strong enough to be dealing with Wooyoung’s issues on top of his own. He’s highly susceptible to the transfer of delusion, and that troubles me.”

“So… what you’re saying is…”

“In the interest of their psychological well-being, Wooyoung and Yeosang must be separated.”

Wooyoung’s eyes shot up.

“No!”

Dr. Kim turned a sympathetic gaze to him, “It’s for your own good, Wooyoung. It’s for Yeosang’s good.”

Feeling lightheaded, Wooyoung sunk his head into his hands. The world around him spun.

“W-we can’t… you can’t… he _needs_ me.”

He could hear the chair creak against the floor as Seonghwa stood up beside him, but the nurse’s voice was muffled under the roar of his thoughts.

_Doctor Kim, Wooyoung and Yeosang only began to show improvements in their recovery once they had each other. They need this._

Wooyoung’s lungs felt like they were burning. He couldn’t breathe.

_I’m sorry, Seonghwa, I’m not sure there’s any other way._

“No…” he managed to choke out, “No…”

He was still vaguely aware that words were being spoken, but he could no longer understand them. All of his conscious effort was put into trying to force air into his lungs and stop his hands from shaking.

He had just realized that he was crying when the world went black.

-

The setting sun shone in muted orange beams through the window in the corner and cast amber rays across Wooyoung’s bedroom wall. Outside, newly fallen snow blew down from the rooftop and whispered across the frosted windowpane. The bedroom was growing darker by the moment, but Wooyoung lay crumpled in a small heap on his bed, unbothered by the evening’s shadows.

He was still dressed in his school uniform, but his tie was loose and his shoes kicked into a corner somewhere. His hair was a tousled mess from the number of times he had frantically moved his hands through it, and his cheeks were red and swollen from the bitter tears now silently welling up and falling from his red eyes in constant streams.

Momentarily, he wondered if it was possible to run out of tears. If one day he might use them all up only to never cry again. He wasn’t sure if that would things better or worse for him and buried his face a little deeper into his pillow.

At the sound of his bedside lamp clicking on, he quickly wiped his eyes but made no move to face the intruder. Rather, he simply waited: waited for the light footsteps on the carpet, the dip in his mattress, the thin arms folding around him and pulling him to a firm chest, and the tiny kiss pressed to his shoulder.

San held him quietly, not asking any questions or trying to crack any jokes to lift the mood, and Wooyoung was incredibly grateful. Wooyoung pulled the warm arms close to his chest and allowed the sobs to shake his whole body. Finally, he allowed himself to snap completely, to succumb to the pain, to the hurt, to the sorrow deep within his bones. He allowed himself to finally tip over and spill out all the pent-up emotions that he had been pushing deep down inside of him for so long. He allowed himself to feel it – all of it. The frustration, the anger, the resentment, the betrayal. He allowed himself to grieve, to mourn, to experience all of it for the first time.

Whenever he was around his mother, Wooyoung had to be brave. She needed him to be strong, to be her support, and he took that role willingly. Every time he looked at his mother, he saw the deep lines in her face, weathered and tired from a long and difficult life, and he found the strength inside him to do whatever it took to support her. He never allowed himself to show his pain because he couldn’t allow her to carry his burden on top of her own. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t lift the weight from her shoulders, but he could prevent her from having to lift his own. So, that’s what he did.  
He would hold her at night while she cried out every last tear, and tuck her weary frame into bed, placing a kiss on her wrinkled forehead. Then, turning off the light, he would silently slip from the room, climb the stairs to his own room, and collapse on his floor as his own tears finally could burst forth.

He could handle it. He could bear the weight. He had to… for her sake.

But every night, another figure would always creep into his room. He would feel San’s arms around him. He would feel his strong chest and he would feel the whispered words of love. He would be held and he would cry until his tears ran dry, but he would feel so incredibly safe.

And that’s just how it was now, with San pressing small kisses into Wooyoung’s neck and shoulders. Lightly holding Wooyoung’s shaking body until he was done. And once Wooyoung had cried his last tear and his breathing had slowed, his eyes falling shut in the fatigue that comes after the sorrow, the way the earth seems to fall asleep after it rains, then San kissed the remains of the hurt away.

They lay there, limbs entangled, Wooyoung’s head resting on San’s chest. San’s fingers delicately painted mindless patterns along the skin of Wooyoung’s arms. As always, he never asked questions, never complained, never judged, never offered advice. All Wooyoung needed was to be held, so hold him he did.

“He finally left.”

Wooyoung’s voice felt rough and dry.

“That bastard… he finally walked out on us. I never thought he’d actually do it. And now he’s gone…” a sniffle, “my dad's really gone.”

San’s hand moved to cover Wooyoung’s which rested over San’s heart. Wooyoung could feel a soft thumb stroke against his own.

“I’m so sorry, Woo,” San mumbled into his hair.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but I’m still sorry.”

They lay in silence.

“I just wish life didn’t have to be this way,” Wooyoung murmured into San’s chest, “I wish for once the good could outweigh the bad. It feels like I’m out deep in the middle of a wild ocean, constantly tossed around by waves. As soon as I manage to get my head above the surface, another wave comes up from behind and pushes me back under. I’m drowning, San. No matter what I do, I just can’t stop the waves.”

“Maybe you don’t need to calm the seas, Woo,” San pressed a kiss onto the top of his head,

“Maybe you just need to learn how to swim.”

-

He felt warm.

Not uncomfortably warm, but warm like a sunbeam on a spring day, or thick blankets on a winter evening. He felt safe. He felt... at home.

Blinking his eyes open, Wooyoung had to squint against the bright light. It must be midday. He tried to move his head only to realize the pillow he was lying against wasn’t a pillow, but rather, a chest. The blanket he thought he had been wrapped in were in fact arms.

“… San?”

“No… not San… it’s me, Sangie.”

He leaned his head back to look up into the worried eyes of Yeosang.

“How are you feeling? You passed out.”

Wooyoung looked around, finding himself lying on a cot in the infirmary, Yeosang’s back resting against the wall with Wooyoung tucked against him, between his legs. A thin, grey hospital blanket lay over Wooyoung, and he felt strangely at ease.

Then, his mind began to slowly recall the events prior to his blackout. He turned frantically to Yeosang.

“Did they tell you?”

The way Yeosang’s face fell told him more than enough, but the other quickly lifted his chin and forced a hopeful smile.

“Seonghwa’s in there now with him talking. I don’t think he’s gonna give in that easily.” He nodded in the direction of the doctor’s office. “He’s trying to make a case for us.”

Wooyoung played with Yeosang’s fingers,

“I can’t lose you, Sangie.”

The other boy gripped his hand tightly,

“I know.”

“He’s real, Yeosang… you’re not seeing things. You’re not delusional.”

Big, worried eyes turned to meet his,

“How are you sure? What if I am? What if I really am seeing things too?”

He searched an answer, desperate to calm the heart of the other boy, but he knew it was in vain. So, he did what he could, and simply pulled Yeosang closer, holding him tightly until their breathing aligned and their heart rates slowed.

“What do you believe?” Wooyoung finally asked, “In here?” he rested a hand on Yeosang’s chest.

“I believe you.”

A hand covered his,

“I mean… I may have a whole lot of problems, but I have two perfectly good eyes. Wooyoung, I don’t think it was my imagination. I don’t think my imagination could ever come up with something like him – like San. I don’t know what he is, but he’s real. He has to be.”

And so, they lay there, tangled together in the corner of the small infirmary, until a door on the opposite end of the room was finally pushed open and the worried face of their nurse peeked in.

Seonghwa’s face visibly relaxed when he saw Wooyoung was awake. He slipped into the room and shut the door behind him. A small smile twitched at the corners of his mouth as he hugged his clipboard to his chest.

“So… I managed to work something out.”

-

The conditions were strict, but given the alternative, both boys agreed enthusiastically. They could still share a room but were no longer permitted in the same bed. They could spend free time together, but only with a chaperone in the room with them. They could still eat meals together, but could not sit directly next to each other. And finally: If Yeosang brought up the “delusion” again, they would be separated indefinitely.

Seonghwa closed the file he was holding with a snap.

“Any questions?”

There was an awkward pause. Yeosang was intently studying the hem of his sweater cuff, so Wooyoung turned to Seonghwa with the words he knew the other wanted to ask but was afraid to voice.  
“Seonghwa, do you think it’s a delusion? Do you really think we’re both imagining this?”

The nurse stiffened, mulled over his response for a few seconds, before letting out a sigh and looking down at the closed folder in his lap.

“Dr. Kim said –”

“I know what he said. But what about you? Do you think there could be any possibility – any chance, no matter how small – that maybe it could be real? That maybe, what we’re seeing isn’t a delusion?” Wooyoung’s voice had taken on a tone of desperation, despite his efforts to keep it steady.

“Woo… I don’t know what to think. I wish I had an answer, but I really just don’t know what to believe right now.”

“It was him, Seonghwa. The boy from solitary, Choi San. It was him and Yeosang could tell you the same thing. San was in my room.”

He turned to Yeosang who looked uncomfortable but nevertheless nodded in agreement,

“I want to believe you two… I really do. But I’ve already told you, I looked up the security surveillance of his room last night,” Seonghwa lifted his eyes, “He never left his room, Wooyoung,” a troubled expression spread across his face,

“San was still there the entire time.”

-

That night, Wooyoung laid awake, watching the thin band of light that the slightly parted curtains cast on the wall, until he heard Yeosang’s breathing slow and level out. For several minutes, he lay there, listening for the sounds of the boy rustling or moving that could signify that he was still awake. When no such noise occurred, he softly whispered,

“Yeosang?”

He was answered with silence.

Waiting a few more moments, just to be sure, he whispered once more, and, when met again with a silent room, he quietly slipped out from under his blankets. Swinging his feet to the cold floor, he climbed out of bed, movements as slow and cautious as a thief in the night. He grabbed his slippers from their place beside his cot but kept them in his hands until he had managed to fully escape the room without waking the other boy. Once in the empty hallway, he shoved his feet inside the worn slippers and carefully surveyed his surroundings.

The hallways were quite dark, with only a fraction of the normal lights turned on. The streetlights outside cast ghostly shadows on the wall, but also helped to illuminate the halls. In the evenings, there were only a few nurses on hand, and Wooyoung knew they would be making their rounds soon, checking on the patients every hour, so he had to be cautious.

He really didn’t know what he was doing. He knew this was a bad idea, but he didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t know who else to go to. He needed answers.

Wooyoung couldn’t remember how he had found the isolation ward last time, but the moment he started walking, he realized he didn’t need to.

Through the silence of the sleeping hospital, he could hear faint whispers, so subtle he could almost mistake them for the wind outside. Following the sound, he slowly began to recognize individual words and syllables, though he still couldn’t understand what they were saying.

The deeper into the hallways he wandered, the more his vision began to change. The hallways he passed blurred past him in a fog, with only one clear direction in front of him – the same direction from which the whispers emerged.

Rounding a corner, the voices grew louder, and he finally could make out what they were repeating over and over, in an endless loop.

They were chanting his name.

It was then that he realized where he was, finding himself facing a dead-end hallway with a familiar blank white door with a metal knob at the furthest end.  
The whispers became a voice, and the voice was one he knew far too intimately.

Around him, was nothing but black fog, distorting everything from his site but the white door that he crept ever closer to.

Once he was close enough to touch it, the voice stopped, and he paused to listen for any movement in the empty hall. He raised his hand to the doorknob, feeling a strong sense of Déjà vu, but this time, no doctor pulled him away.

His hand trembled as he turned the doorknob,

and pushed the door slowly open.


	6. The Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may be mean, but I'm not evil.  
> Enjoy the slightly early chapter!!

The room was windowless, devoid of any light other than the single beam coming from the open door. Wooyoung slipped into the room, keeping the door slightly ajar, and surveyed the tiny space. The walls and floor all appeared to be made of the same material, a soft, foamy substance that molded to his feet with each step. The room was a skeleton of what a room should be. Nothing personal, nothing beautiful, nothing enjoyable, nothing but the barest bones of survival. A prison for those imprisoned by their minds.

The only piece of furniture in the whole room was a single cot with no blankets, no sheets, and no pillow, just an old, stained mattress.

And it was empty.

Wooyoung blinked, wondering if his eyes were just playing tricks on him, and cautiously crossed the room to the bed tucked into the corner. Getting down on his knees, he checked underneath the metal frame, then ran his hands along the bumpy mattress, but the bed was empty.

San was gone.

“San?” he didn’t dare lift his voice above a whisper,

“Are you here?”

He was met with nothing but the distant buzz of the fluorescent lighting out in the hallway.

Wooyoung stood, eyes searching the room frantically. He knew this was the room. This was the exact room that he had seen San in before. This was the room Dr. Kim had entered and this was the exact foam floor that he had caught a glimpse of San hunched over on. There was absolutely no mistake. This was San’s room, and San was gone.

It was then that he caught a glimpse of something sticking out from between the headboard of the cot and the wall. Reaching in between, he tugged free what appeared to be a lump of folded cloth. It was heavier than he had first thought it would be, and as he unfolded it, he could feel metal studs and buckles sewn in. Wooyoung lifted the object and held it to the light. He sucked in a breath when he realized what it was.

A straight jacket.

Torn open from the inside.

The metal buckles he had felt were still intact, holding the sleeves in place as they were meant to. But the body of the jacket, with all its thick layers of industrial fabric, was torn completely in half, as though it were paper.

“No…” his eyes widened, “no no no no no.”

This was bad. This was really bad. San wasn’t just gone, San had _escaped_. He had broken himself out and was running free. This was really bad.

What did this even mean? He didn’t even know why San was admitted into the hospital in the first place, let alone why he would attempt to break out. Where was he planning to go? What was his goal?

Wooyoung turned to leave but stopped himself. Where could he go? Who could he even tell? How was he supposed to tell anyone he had been in San’s room without serious consequences? How was he supposed to rationally explain that he had left his room in the middle of the night to break into a room in the isolation ward to confront his schizophrenic demon who had been admitted as a patient? No matter how you looked at it, it wasn’t good. He already was on the line with Dr. Kim in regards to Yeosang, how the hell was he supposed to explain this without losing the boy completely?

_Yeosang._

Wooyoung’s stomach dropped.

The small boy was undoubtedly asleep now, curled up in his bed.

Unprotected.

Alone.

Tonight, of all nights. The very first day that Wooyoung and Yeosang had been separated by Dr. Kim, the very first day that Wooyoung and Yeosang wouldn’t be allowed to share a bed, the _one_ night he would choose to actively seek out San, the one night Wooyoung would leave his room – leave Yeosang alone in his room… was the night San planned his escape.

_“Wooyoung… Please don’t forget that you’re mine.”_

His blood ran cold.

Wooyoung’s body immediately kicked into gear, dropping the jacket at his feet before turning and sprinting to the door. Before he could reach the handle, however, the door slammed shut in front of him, as though pushed by an unseen hand, and what little light had come from the hallway vanished altogether.

Reaching blindly, Wooyoung found the doorknob. He jiggled it with his hand, but it wouldn’t budge. He tried to feel along its surface for anything that could unlock it, but it was no use.

The door was locked from the outside. Wooyoung was locked in.

Wooyoung raised a fist and thumped it heavily against the door.

 _“Let me out! Help! Get me out of he-”_ He was immediately cut off by a hand slapping over his face, tightly gripping his mouth and cutting off his air supply. He tried to scream to no avail, his voice was muffled by the grip. He thrashed wildly against the unrelenting hand, growing dizzy as the air in his lungs rapidly dwindled. Spots flashed across his vision when a silky disembodied voice purred into his ear.

“Hello, darling. How thoughtful of you to visit.”

Then, the hand around his mouth vanished, only to be replaced seconds later by an icy grip on his ankles. His feet were jerked out from under him, knocking Wooyoung flat on his face, and with a sharp tug, he was dragged backwards into the blackness of the room.

He only stopped when his feet hit the metal frame of the cot, then he was manhandled up onto the bed and shoved down on his back. An invisible weight climbed on top of him, pinning his body to the mattress before a soft breath ghosted across his ear, causing the hair of his neck to stand on end.

“I was wondering when you’d come. I’ve been waiting for you.” Wooyoung held back a shiver as a warm tongue traced the shell of his ear.

“San?”

“I’ve been waiting and waiting for you, baby. What took you so long?”

“San, I-” he gasped as the tongue moved to his neck, licking a long strip from his collarbone to his earlobe. A cool hand slipped up under his shirt, stroking the skin of his waist.

“What are you doing, San?”

“I want you. I _need_ you, Wooyoung.” San’s voice was desperate. Wooyoung felt fingernails lightly scrape up his chest. His mind felt blurry.

He reached up a shaking hand to find the porcelain cheek hovering somewhere over him, but before he could find it, the hands slipped out from under his shirt and grabbed his wrists, pinning them to the mattress above his head.

He swore San _growled._

“What do you want from me?” Wooyoung rasped.

San was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his pleading voice came from directly over Wooyoung’s face.

“I just want you to let me _in_.”

Immediately, San’s lips meet his. The kiss was rough, and San was demanding. He took everything Wooyoung gave him and still searched for more. Wooyoung’s breath hitched when a tongue met his lower lip, and he relented, opening his mouth to give him access. Their mouths worked together so naturally in synch, lips crashing and tongues meeting, molding together as perfectly as though San had been created entirely for the purpose of kissing Wooyoung.

San was usually aggressive, but this was a whole new level. His hands left Wooyoung’s, instead choosing to feel him up, running across Wooyoung’s skin, and pulling them even closer yet. Their breath was heavy, intermingling what little space lay between them.

Intoxicated by the overwhelming presence of San, Wooyoung tried vaguely to remember why he’d come here. He tried to remember what had happened until this point, but all he could focus on was the feeling of San’s tongue intertwining with his own and the fingernails lightly raking down his back. All he could think of was the weight in his lap, the thighs pinning him to the bed, and the deep moans occasionally rumbling through the chest above him. With the blackness of the room surrounding him, his senses were entirely filled with San. All he could feel, touch, smell, taste was the creature.

All he could think of was San. Beautiful, ethereal, gorgeous San. The boy with galaxies in his eyes and fire in his words and a mind so big and full of beautiful ideas that he could hardly contain them. All he could think of was the boy who’s smile could blind the sun and who’s tears could drown the sea. The boy who held him and kissed him and loved him for far too many years. The only boy to ever tell him he loved him.

The boy who was too good to be real.

Wooyoung raised a hand to the cold flesh of San’s chest, pushing him back just enough to break the kiss.

“San…” he whispered into the darkness above him,

“San… what… what are you?”

He could hear the smirk in San’s voice, “What do you think I am, darling?”

“Am I only imagining you, or are you real?”

“What do you think?” San repeated. A hand made its way down Wooyoung’s body, lightly ghosting over his crotch. Wooyoung’s breath hitched, “Does this _feel_ real?” he gripped the growing bulge in his sweatpants and Wooyoung gasped,

“Darling,” San’s voice was a low growl, “You _wish_ I was only a figment of your imagination.”

Wooyoung’s eyes popped open and he pushed San off of him, backing himself into the wall, trying to get as far away as possible from the disembodied voice.

“What are you? If you’re real, then what the _hell_ are you?”

“Oh Wooyoung,” San’s silky voice chuckled from the darkness surrounding him, his voice was deeper, rougher, unfamiliar, and horrible.

“Why so afraid, darling? Have you never met a demon before?”

-

Wooyoung woke in a cold sweat.

Sitting up groggily, he brought a hand up to his throbbing head. He sat for a few moments with his hand over his eyes until the pain in his head subdued a little. Uncovering his eyes, he squinted in the light, looking around.

He was sitting on the floor in the familiar dead-end hallway, facing the blank white door to San’s room.

Pushing himself up, he groaned at the ache in his muscles, stretching out his back and rubbing the circulation back into his legs. How long had he been there?

Once again, the door caught his eye.

Last night… the empty room… the hands… San… the _demon_?

Was that real?

He raised a hand to the metal doorknob that he had turned so easily before. Would San be there? Was this a terrible idea? The metal was cold to the touch and felt heavy in his grip. He turned the knob.  
It was locked.

Again, he tried with more force, but the doorknob wouldn’t budge. The door that he had opened so easily last night was now locked.

His head throbbed painfully again, and he leaned against the wall to steady himself. The hallways were still silent and empty, so it must have still been night, but how much time had passed since he was there? How much of what had happened was real? Did he ever actually enter the room? Had San ever actually been there?

One last time, he tried the door. When he was absolutely certain that it couldn’t be opened, he finally turned away and stumbled slowly back to his room.

As he wandered through the hallways, he came across a window. The world outside was still pitch black, so it was still nighttime, but he couldn’t shake how disoriented he felt.

He hated this. He hated how much his grip on reality had slipped since San arrived that first night. Until that moment, everything had made sense. Everything could be explained, and Wooyoung could handle it. Life was shitty and his mental health was definitely subpar, but he could deal with it. He had developed ways to cope, ways to control San and his seemingly random appearances.

Now, however, whatever little control he had over his life was gone. Any progress he had made was gone. His mental health was spiraling rapidly, and he was in a constant state of doubt. The line between reality and his dreams was blurred so much that he could no longer find any distinction between the two anymore. He no longer knew if he was awake or asleep. Reality meant nothing to him.

As Wooyoung finally entered his own ward, keeping his steps muffled to avoid alerting the night staff, he wondered if life would ever be normal again. It definitely wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed his mind, but it was the first time that he glanced around the yellowed halls and genuinely wondered if he would ever be able to leave them.

Until now, he’d always forced himself to remain hopeful. He was determined to get himself to a point that he was stable enough to live on his own again. But now… now he really wasn’t sure he would ever get there. The hope he had always held onto deep within his heart was rapidly dying away, and he wasn’t sure he would ever get it back.

Finally, he arrived at his own room. Quietly, he pushed the heavy door open, quickly slipping through before the light could wake Yeosang. He tip-toed over to his bed, and had just pulled back the covers when a sleepy voice piped up.

“Wooyoung? S’that you?”

Peering back over his shoulder, he found Yeosang sitting up in his bed, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“Sorry, Sangie, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Where were you?” he mumbled, eyes squinting in their effort to stay open.

“Just… in the washroom. It’s okay, go back to sleep.” He hated lying to the boy, hated having to hide the truth from him, but what other choice did he have?

There were too many uncertainties, too many unknowns. For one, he still wasn’t entirely sure himself what had transpired the night before. He still had to think things over himself, to understand what had occurred in San’s room. The less information he could burden Yeosang with, the better. It was for his own good.

It was exactly how it had always been for Wooyoung with his mother. The less Wooyoung could be a burden for those he loved, the more he could protect them. All he had to do was hold everything close to his chest, to be extremely careful with how much information he gave away. He was used to this. He could handle this.

He was used to being a burden.

Crossing the room, he crouched down next to Yeosang’s bed, guiding the boy back until his head was again resting on his pillow. He brushed a few stray hairs from Yeosang’s eyes before leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to his pale forehead.

When he pulled back, he was met with Yeosang’s big eyes watching him, filled with an expression he couldn’t recognize. Wooyoung smiled at him reassuringly, before pulling back to stand up. Before he could, however, a small hand gripped his, dragging him back down.

“Can you stay?” he whispered into the darkness of the room.

“Yeosang, you know I can’t.”

“But I’m scared, Woo. All night I’ve felt eyes… watching me,” Yeosang’s voice wavered and he forced a humorless laugh, “Please tell me I’m just crazy. That’s not possible, right?”

Wooyoung froze.

“Please,” Yeosang whispered, grip on Wooyoung tightening, “Tell me everything’s okay.”

Wooyoung brought his free hand up to stroke the other boy’s cheek.

“Yeah,” he rasped, “Everything’s gonna be okay. I promise. Now go to sleep, I’ll stay here until you do, okay? I won’t go anywhere.”

Yeosang watched him nervously before slowly nodding, “Okay.”

“Close your eyes, I’ll be here. I’ll always be here.”

And so there they sat, Yeosang’s grip on Wooyoung’s hand gradually growing looser and looser until letting go completely, and Wooyoung could hear his breath grow soft and steady in sleep. He didn’t stop stroking Yeosang’s smooth cheek until he was sure he wouldn’t wake the boy up. Then, he leaned over again, and pressed one last kiss to his skin, this time just beside his lips, which were slightly parted in sleep.

“Goodnight Sangie.” He murmured, before drawing the blanket up to the other boy’s chin, brushing a hand through his hair one last time, and crossing the room to slip back into his own bed.  
As he tucked himself in and rolled over to sleep, he glanced up to the dark corner nearest to Yeosang. He had avoided looking into that corner until now because as he had sat beside Yeosang’s bed, he had become uncomfortably aware of a presence hovering there in the dark. Like Yeosang, he had also felt eyes watching him, though he would never have told him, because were he to look up, he knew exactly whose eyes he would have found.

Now, however, the corner was empty. San had left.

He closed his eyes, digging his face into his pillow, and prayed that he wouldn’t come back.

At least not tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting super busy with work and school, but I'm so excited about how this story is going that I'm still prioritizing the weekly updates!!  
> I'd really love to hear your opinions and theories of what's going to happen!!  
> See you next week!
> 
> xo Versace


	7. Demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an essay due on Wednesday that I haven't started yet, so instead, I wrote another chapter.  
> I hope you appreciate my procrastination more than my professor does.
> 
> xo Versace

The world was cool and grey as Wooyoung walked across his school grounds towards the main gate. Overhead, clouds were billowing and swollen with oncoming rain. The wind was beginning to pick up, whipping through the leaves of the young trees lining the walkway, snapping off the occasional dead stick and bringing it crashing to the ground. He quickened his pace, hoping to arrive at home before the rain began.

In front of him, San was skipping along, curiously watching the world around him with a look of childlike awe on his face. For some strange reason, San loved stormy weather. He was fascinated by crashing thunder and brilliant flashes of lightning. The creature trembled with excitement every time the skies turned dark and the wind grew ferocious, and he would stare out Wooyoung’s bedroom window for hours with his dark eyes transfixed on the fury of nature outside. His fascination was unfathomable.

For Wooyoung, however, storms were the worst. He flinched at any particularly loud clap of thunder and pulled his blankets a little higher over his head. Sometimes he would try to distract himself from the weather by watching a movie, his headphones blaring at top volumes to drown out the roar, but he could still feel the rumbling deep in his chest whenever a storm was especially close by.

Ever since he was a child, he was terrified of loud, sudden noises. In his household, they were never a good sign, so it didn’t take long for him to develop a wariness towards them. Storms, fireworks, sudden shouts or sounds, all of the like caused panic to swell in his chest. They were too similar to the shouting matches between his parents that he would pretend not to hear long after he was tucked into bed. They reminded him of the clash of glass bottles being shattered against the kitchen wall in the middle of the night, or of the piercing sound of a rough and calloused hand being slapped against his mother’s frail cheek, punctuating the silence after a fight.

Wooyoung hated storms. They reminded him too painfully of the fury of his own father.

As they passed through the gate and turned onto the sidewalk, the first few tentative raindrops fell to the pavement at Wooyoung’s feet. Tugging his jacket tighter around himself, he picked up his pace. San noticed his change of speed and quickly fell into step beside him, though the excitement coursing through the creature was still palpable.

The moment they arrived on the main street, the sky flashed white with a brilliant streak of lightning, followed almost immediately with thunder that seemed to shake the ground, and the rain finally burst free from the heavens.

Wooyoung could feel the panic rising in his chest, but before he could dwell on it, he felt a cold hand fall into his own and grip it tight. His wide eyes met San’s which flashed with a mischievous smirk before the other boy took off running, dragging Wooyoung along behind him.

The rain was falling in torrential waves upon them, dripping down their faces in streams and soaking through their clothing, causing it to cling uncomfortably to their arms and legs as they ran down the quiet streets.

Wooyoung’s lungs were burning in the best way as he ran after San, dodging other pedestrians with their umbrellas and confused looks, running through the glowing city streets. The red and green glow of stoplights reflected off the pavement beneath their feet as they ran, ducking through alleys and jumping fences in their effort to get home.

But ultimately, Wooyoung was human, a human who was only capable of running for so far before his chest began to sting with every breath and he had to stop. Nearing an overhang, he tugged San’s hand, pulling him to a stop.

The boy threw an inquiring look over his shoulder, replaced with a peal of laughter as he noticed Wooyoung’s hunched over state. While he gasped for breath, leaning back against the concrete wall of the closed shop, his gaze met San’s. Both boys just stood there for a moment, taking in the other’s drenched and winded appearance, before simultaneously bursting into laughter.

They laughed until they couldn’t laugh any more and the occasional passerby cast confused looks their way as they rushed by.

San watched Wooyoung with a painfully fond expression, before plucking a damp strand of hair out of Wooyoung’s face, “No offense, but you look terrible.”

Wooyoung couldn’t stop the bark of laughter that burst out at that, “Thanks, you look pretty bad yourself.”

Around them, the rain continued to thunder down on the pavement, running in rivulets down the sidewalk by their feet. The world was muffled by the steady thrum of rain against the canopy overhead, and their tiny shelter was illuminated only by the red neon light of the CLOSED sign of the coffee shop.

San’s hand hadn’t left Wooyoung’s hair, and the look in his eyes slowly grew in its intensity.

“San?” he asked. He was breathless now, but whether from the running, the laughter, or the glint in San’s eyes, he couldn’t quite be certain.

“Wooyoung…” he breathed, “Can I ask you something?”

He tensed, “What is it?”

“Do you love me?”

Wooyoung’s face fell, and his heart clenched deep within his chest, “San… you know how I feel.”

“I just want you to say it. Even if it’s not real, I just want to hear it,” San’s dark eyes grew sad, “You can lie to me if you have to, it’s okay.”

San’s hand slipped down to cup Wooyoung’s cheek, catching droplets of water as they dripped from his eyelashes.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Please?” San pleaded, “Just tell me you want me. I don’t even care if it’s true, we can just pretend. Just this once.”

A tear slipped down Wooyoung’s cheek, mixing with the raindrops on his skin,

“San… I can’t do that. You know that I can’t.”

“You can’t love me, or you shouldn’t?”

There it was again, that feline glint in San’s dark eyes. He studied Wooyoung like a mouse caught in his trap.

“I shouldn’t… and so I can’t.” Wooyoung swallowed, “I can’t allow myself to love you, San.”

“Right…” San looked down at his feet, hand slipping off Wooyoung’s cheek to hang limply at his side.

“Then… do… do you at least want to love me?”

Wooyoung reached over to take his hand in his own, causing the apparition to look up in surprise, eyes twinkling with what Wooyoung could only assume was hope.

“More than anything.”

San looked dejected, but he forced a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Then that’s good enough for me.”

They stood in silence under the overhang, until San noticed Wooyoung shivering from the cold rainwater soaking through his clothing. The familiar bright glint crept back into his eyes and when he smiled, a dimple finally reappeared on his flushed cheek. He offered Wooyoung a damp hand.

“Come, let’s get you home.”

-

By the time they had arrived back at Wooyoung’s house, the rain had finally begun to ease up, only falling in sporadic little bursts of fine, mist-like raindrops. The two boys walked up the front steps shaking the rainwater from their hair and clothing as best as they could.

Before Wooyoung could turn the doorknob, he was stopped by San’s hand on his wrist. He turned to the boy; eyebrow cocked inquisitively.

“I’m sorry.” San was watching him with that same sad look in his eye.

“What for?”

Using the hand still on Wooyoung’s wrist, San tugged him closer until the two were face to face. Wooyoung watched a stray raindrop trail down his neck to settle in the dip of his collarbone. He suppressed the urge to sweep it away.

Stepping even closer into Wooyoung’s space, San wrapped his arms around him, pulling them flush together in a tight hug. Their wet clothing clung together and Wooyoung shivered at the cold that emanated from the boy in his arms. San’s soft voice mumbled into his neck.

“You may be able to control your desires, but I will never stop wanting you,” he pulled back just enough to watch Wooyoung’s reaction through his eyelashes, “that’s a promise.”

Leaning in slightly, he pecked a light kiss to Wooyoung’s cheek, before stepping back, arms falling back at his side.

Before Wooyoung could respond, the front door to his house swung open and his mother stood there, towel in hand and a concerned crease in her brow.

“What on earth are you just standing outside for? Are you trying to catch a cold? Come in, take those wet shoes off.” She tutted at him, pulling him in and wrapping him up in the fluffy towel. Wooyoung didn’t need to look back at the front stoop to know that San wouldn’t be there. He felt a pang of guilt in his stomach.

_I’m sorry._

-

The new rules were painful. It became a regular occurrence for Wooyoung to wake up in the night to the sound of Yeosang’s muffled sobs, able to do little more than watch from his own bed, whispering softly to him until the other finally wore himself out and fell asleep.

Tensions were constantly high, any private moment they were able to steal together was spent nervously watching out for the medical staff. Physical contact was brief and cautious, both boys tearing apart in panic at the slightest noise from the hall outside or nearby voice. Often, Wooyoung found himself unconsciously reaching out for the other boy, before remembering their situation and pulling his hand back. He never missed the flash of disappointment in Yeosang’s eyes in those moments.

Free time was spent being uncomfortably third-wheeled by nurses who clearly could sense how unwanted their presence was and quite obviously reciprocated the sentiments. The best days were the ones in which Seonghwa was assigned to babysit them (a term the lanky nurse frequently protested). He easily joined in their conversations and games or would busy himself a respectable distance from them, lending them some blissful moments of privacy.

Very quickly, however, they discovered a loophole. Whenever Hongjoong, the small brunette patient from their floor, was around, Seonghwa would be glued to the boy. They never commented on the lovesick look on the nurse’s face, but their shared mischievous smiles behind his back expressed more than enough.

To say they abused this knowledge would be an understatement.

Needless to say, Hongjoong quickly became the fourth-wheel of their little setup, keeping their nurse nicely distracted while Wooyoung and Yeosang would cuddle and talk a short distance away.

This was how they found themselves one particularly sunny August afternoon in the vibrant gardens of Gonjiam. There was a strong breeze that day which was particularly helpful as it helped muffle their voices further as they talked, several feet away from where Seonghwa was currently talking shyly with the small brunette patient. The nurse was furiously avoiding eye contact with him, instead, busying himself by plucking at the grass in front of him while Hongjoong watched him talk with the most disgustingly fond smile.

Wooyoung was stretched out across the lush green grass of the lawn, his head settled comfortably on Yeosang’s crossed legs. Yeosang’s small hands were playing with Wooyoung’s hair, and Wooyoung’s eyes had slipped closed several minutes ago, as they sat enveloped in sunshine and comfortable silence.

“Yeosang?”

“Hm?’”

“Do you believe in demons?”

The hands in his hair stilled for a moment before slowly resuming their previous motion.

“I think so.”

Wooyoung perked up at that,

“Really?”

Yeosang nodded, “I went to catholic school and they told us that there’s constantly spiritual activity around us, but we just aren’t always able to see it. Angels, demons, and the like – I’ve never really been able to shake the idea that they might exist. I mean…” he ran a lock of Wooyoung’s hair thoughtfully between two fingers, “there are so many unexplainable ‘paranormal’ things that happen, and we just write them off as creepy and call it a day. It almost makes too much sense that there’s a whole other side to life that we don’t know about.”

Wooyoung tried to remain nonchalant, but his mind was racing, “What exactly are demons?”

“I mean, I’m definitely not an expert on them, but from what I’ve heard, they’re basically the embodiment of evil. They’re fallen angels who were banished from heaven, so they live their lives trying to drag as many people to hell with them as they can. I’ve heard tons of stories of them possessing people and animals and stuff… it’s super creepy.”

“They can do that? They can really possess people? I’ve always seen that sort of thing in movies, but I thought that just came from before people knew what mental illness was.”

Yeosang shook his head, “No, demon possession is something completely different. They say that when you’re around someone who’s possessed you can _feel_ it. Something just feels wrong, and you can’t explain it any other way.”

“How do you become possessed? How do you know if it’s a demon?”

He shrugged “I’m not sure. Why? Are you possessed or something?” Yeosang smirked at him, but his smile dropped immediately once he noticed the terror in Wooyoung’s eyes.

“Wooyoung…”

“How… how would you know if you are possessed, Yeosang?”

“I think people just know. It’s like a gut feeling. Wooyoung… you’re not…?”

“What if they tell you?”

Yeosang didn’t reply.

“What if he told me he’s a demon?”

When Yeosang finally spoke his voice was small,

“Then maybe he is.”

The silence that now surrounded them was anything but comfortable. Wooyoung’s mind was spinning with the thoughts of what this information could mean. He ran his hands across his face in frustration, willing the unpleasant thoughts from his head.

Finally, Yeosang broke the uneasy stillness around them.

“Wooyoung, what is he to you?”

Wooyoung startled, looking up at him, but Yeosang refused to meet his eyes, instead intensely braiding the longer hair at the top of Wooyoung’s head.

“What?”

“How much does he mean to you?”

“I don’t know what you–”

“I saw you two,” Yeosang’s eyes finally shot up to lock with Wooyoung’s, “That night, when he came to our room, I saw him on top of you. I’m not an idiot.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened, “Sangie–”

“Why didn’t it look like you minded?” Yeosang’s voice dropped to a whisper, “Why didn’t you push him away?”

The air around them felt heavy with the words left unspoken.

“I… I don’t know.”

Yeosang watched him tentatively.

“I want to hate him, Sangie. I want to so badly. You’d think it would be easy. He’s ruined my school life, destroyed every friendship I’ve had, and basically strained every meaningful relationship in my life. I should detest him.”

“But you don’t.” his tone was matter-of-fact.

“I can’t.” Wooyoung closed his eyes against the familiar sting of tears, “Because as cruel as he can be… as much trouble he brings to my life… he can also be so good. He can be so gentle and kind. He treats me like the most important person in the world. He tells me… he tells me he loves me.”

Wooyoung turned his teary eyes to Yeosang’s, “Is that bad of me? That a part of me thinks the bad is worthwhile because all I want is to feel like I actually matter to someone? Even if it hurts me… even if it hurts those around me… that for once in my goddamn life I can finally just allow myself to be selfish? That a part of me is terrified that if he leaves, I’ll never feel this way again?”

He didn’t miss the tears welling in Yeosang’s eyes before the boy wordlessly pulled Wooyoung up, leaning him against his small shoulder and wrapping his arms tightly around him. Wooyoung had just pressed his face into the crook of Yeosang’s neck when a sob broke out, the tears finally slipping freely down his cheeks.

“All I want is to be selfish for once, Yeosang… does that make me a bad person? That a part of me just wants to hold on to this… no matter the cost?”

Yeosang simply held him, pressing gentle kisses against the top of his head, allowing Wooyoung to simply experience the emotions he had bottled up inside for so many years. Only when Wooyoung’s sobs died down to the occasional sniffle did Yeosang speak.

“How you’re treated will never define you, Woo. You deserved to be loved before San loved you, and you’ll still deserve to be loved if San ever stops loving you. Your worth isn’t measured by what people think of you, but by what’s in _here_ ,” he pressed a tiny flat palm against Wooyoung’s chest, “You can’t choose your situation; you can’t choose who loves you or hates you, and you can’t choose how others are going to treat you. But you _can_ choose to do the right thing, no matter the circumstances.”

He pulled Wooyoung back from his shoulder, carefully blotting the tears from the other’s face with the long sleeve of his shirt.

“But if you think for even one minute that a demon is acting with your best interests at heart, you’re dead wrong, Woo. San may tell you he loves you, but please listen to me,” he cupped Wooyoung’s face with both hands, “Demons are incapable of love. No matter what he might tell you, San is not able to love you. So please, please don’t count on it. He’ll destroy you.”

The words stung.

Wooyoung suddenly felt exhausted. They sat in silence for a few moments, until Yeosang spoke up again.

“Can… can I tell you something…?” the boy looked nervous, thumb playing with his lower lip the way it usually did when he was anxious.

“You can tell me anything, Sangie.”

He opened his mouth to respond but promptly shut it when a shadow fell over the two of them. Seonghwa was looking down at them with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry boys, it’s time to head back inside.”

They scrambled to get up and follow the rest of the patients back into the hospital, but Wooyoung stopped before the entrance, turning back to Yeosang.

“What was it you were going to say?”

Yeosang studied him for a moment before shaking his head with a small laugh and brushing past him to open the door.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing.”

Wooyoung knew a lie when he heard one, but he also knew better than to press Yeosang for information, so all he could do was follow the small boy back into the dark halls of the psych ward, the heavy metal doors swinging shut behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slipped in a lil Seongjoong moment bc I'm convinced that there isn't an AU out there in which Seonghwa isn't busy taking care of Joongie. Fight me.


	8. Yeosang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday and hoo boy, I hope you guys are ready for what is officially the softest chapter to date.  
> Enjoy!!!
> 
> xo Versace

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of the daily hospital routine.

There was a counseling session with the stone-faced Dr. Kim, his plaid tie as crisp and neat as ever, and his eyes calculating and beady behind his thick-framed glasses. He spoke very little and Wooyoung replied even less, while Seonghwa watched from the side with his clipboard uneasily clasped in both hands.

The clock ticked the minutes by in its usual staccato metronome until the doctor flipped closed his notebook with a flourish that always signified that Wooyoung’s 30-minute session was finally up. Without a moment’s hesitation, Wooyoung was up from his chair and heading to the door, but Seonghwa caught him before he could escape completely with a hand on his forearm.

“I’ll walk with you,” he smiled in a way that Wooyoung immediately knew wasn’t genuine. He nodded wordlessly and allowed the nurse to pull him along into the hallway.

Once the two of them were a safe distance from the office, Seonghwa let his facial expression drop into one of concern.

“Can we talk?”

Wooyoung shrugged, “I can’t promise any answers.”

Seonghwa led him back to the nurse station, checking the premises to ensure they were out of earshot, before taking a seat in the rolling chair at his desk, motioning for Wooyoung to take the seat beside him.

“Before your session, I spoke with Yeosang.”

Wooyoung’s face paled.

“Don’t worry, he didn’t say much. He didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know, but he was extremely worried about you, Woo. I’m not sure what you’ve said to him, but I have never seen him this upset.”

“I – I’m sorry.”

“First and foremost, I need to say that I’m still not entirely convinced of Dr. Kim’s diagnosis. It’s one of the only explanations we have, and it is incredibly plausible, so I can’t deny it as a possibility, but I’ve known the two of you for far too long to be willing to write off something like this immediately as a delusion. I need to make this clear.”

“Thank you, Seonghwa.” Wooyoung couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips at that.

The nurse smiled back, already looking more relaxed, “Wooyoung, I know how important your relationship with Yeosang is, and I am telling you with full sincerity that I will do anything in my power to keep you two together. You know that, right?”

Wooyoung nodded.

“That being said, I am also your nurse, and I’m responsible for both of your health and mental well-being. Your and Yeosang’s mental health is my top priority,” Seonghwa’s face grew serious, “Wooyoung, you know Yeosang cares about you, right?” Wooyoung opened his mouth, but Seonghwa cut him off,

“Do you realize exactly how much?”

Wooyoung thought of the boy, the small, timid creature he had first met so long ago. Back then, on Wooyoung’s first day walking through the yellowed hallways of Gonjiam and into the dim, cell-like room that would be his indefinite home, he had been greeted with the skeletal frame of his roommate.

The very first thing that Wooyoung had noticed was how small he was. Physically, his paper-thin skin was stretched taught over the frail bones beneath, and his weary eyes sat deep in their sockets. But even his entire presence, the way he spoke, the way he walked into a room, the way he immediately curled in on himself, tucking his knees up to his chest as he sat was clearly intended to make him as small as possible.

When Wooyoung offered his palm to shake, Yeosang flinched back in fear. He never once met his eyes.

He always carried with him a dull blue blanket, no matter where he went. Wooyoung suspected that was against hospital rules, but he came to realize that the nurses had very quickly ceased trying to enforce that particular rule with him.

Their friendship wasn’t easy, it wasn’t immediate.

Yeosang was incredibly shy and wary by nature, terrified of unpredictability, uncertainties, and unknowns. He’d been raised with little to no control over his own life, and so when he finally discovered autonomy, it scared him.

Wooyoung was everything he feared.

Wooyoung was loud, boisterous, full of life, and impulsive. He changed his mind on a whim and changed his mood even faster. Wooyoung could see things that Yeosang couldn’t. Wooyoung was the first taste of uncontainable chaos into Yeosang’s methodical, predictable life.

And that terrified him.

He never spoke a word to Wooyoung for the first four months that they shared a room. In fact, the boy never even made eye contact with him – even by accident. When Wooyoung was in the room, his eyes were glued to the floor, and the dull blue blanket was worked between anxious fingers until Wooyoung either left the room or settled down in his bed to sleep.

Of course, Wooyoung had tried to break the silence in the beginning, but it was to no avail. After countless vain attempts at small talk, he became well accustomed to the lack of response. However, that never once stopped him from trying. He simply learned that if he was going to speak, he shouldn’t expect an answer, so his questions turned into long-winded rants about his day to day life, his past, his problems, and his dreams.

For all Yeosang lacked in words, he made up for by listening. Wooyoung had never before had a friend that wouldn’t sass him, cut him off when he was talking too much, or silence him when he was too loud. Yeosang, be it against his will or not, never once told Wooyoung to shut up, so Wooyoung took that as full permission to never shut up. And over time, he began to realize that Yeosang actually did pay attention to what he had to say, though he never once voiced a response.

He can still remember the first time Yeosang spoke.

It was a particularly dark night with a particularly violent thunderstorm, one that seemed to shake the entire hospital with every burst. Wooyoung, with his ever-present fear of storms, was lying awake, desperately praying for unconsciousness to take him at any minute, when he noticed another, fainter sound in the dark room.

It was so soft, Wooyoung almost missed it at first, but in the gaps between thunder bursts, he could just barely make it out.

Yeosang was crying.

Wooyoung sat up in bed, squinting in the dark room to distinguish the dark mound on the cot across from him from its surroundings. It was subtle at first, but once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could clearly see the boy’s body shaking unmistakably as it was racked with sobs. His blanket was wrapped tightly around him, and his hands were clasped tightly over his ears.

“Yeosang?”

There was no answer.

Wooyoung cleared his throat and repeated a little louder, “Yeosang?”

The boy tensed, his hands slipping off of his ears.

“Yeosang, are you alright?”

No answer.

“Is it the storm?”

He was once again met with silence, but that had never discouraged Wooyoung before, so he pressed on.

“It’s okay if you’re scared… I’m scared too. I’ve never liked thunder.”

The boy’s body seemed to relax.

Wooyoung laid back down as he noticed Yeosang’s shaking stop, and just listened for a moment to the heavy patter of rain against the glass of the window.

“Just so you know, Yeosang, if you ever need someone, I’m here for you, okay? I mean it. I’m scared of a lot of things, but I know that it’s a lot nicer to be afraid with company than to be afraid all on your own. I won’t push you to do anything you don’t want to do, but if you’re ever feeling alone, I just want you to know that you’re not, 'cause you’ve got me.”

He wasn’t expecting to hear a response, so he was shocked when after a moment he was met with the rustle of sheets, the soft padding of feet across the tile floor, and a quiet little voice that sounded so rough from lack of use.

“W – Wooyoung?”

Wooyoung sat up abruptly,

“Y – yeah, what is it, Yeosang?”

His voice was so almost a whisper, so small, so unsure, the blanket wrung nervously between his hands, “Can… can I sleep with you?”

Wooyoung simply smiled and lifted up the edge of his blanket for him, shifting to the edge of the small bed to make room. He didn’t know what he was expecting when the timid boy sank onto the mattress beside him, but when his little form immediately pressed right up against him and his small face buried itself into his chest, Wooyoung’s arms instinctively moved to envelop him. There they lay, in the most comfortable silence Wooyoung had ever felt within the four walls of that room.

He had finally gained Yeosang’s trust.

Wooyoung fell asleep with a smile on his lips and his heart filled with the most hope he had ever allowed himself to feel.

Since that night, they were inseparable.

Wooyoung continued to talk poor little Yeosang’s ear off, but now the latter would watch him intently, a small smile playing on his lips, and occasionally he would interject with a statement or question. Yeosang grew healthier. He ate well, under Wooyoung’s strict supervision at meals and insistence at adding more food to his plate, praising him with every bite. That quiet, nervous boy bloomed into a clever, cunning, sarcastic little asshole who laughed at Wooyoung and the dramatic recounting of his day while the two of them got ready for bed.

Because of Wooyoung, Yeosang grew brave. And because of Yeosang? Wooyoung grew hopeful.

He found hope in the golden laughter that bubbled from the boy’s lungs as though that was their sole purpose. Not for breathing in the air that sustained his own life, but for breathing out the sunshine that illuminated the world around him and caused beauty to bloom wherever he trod.

He found hope in the way that Yeosang was so willing to defy the odds, to push back against the darkness that raised him.

He found hope in the way the boy, who had only ever felt a hand’s harsh slap across his cheek and never once a gentle caress, could so carefully use his own hand to wipe away the tears from Wooyoung’s eyes.

He found hope in the way Yeosang had taught himself to love. He had taught himself compassion, kindness, forgiveness, and love.

In Yeosang, Wooyoung found the hope that your past does not need to define who you will become. That kindness is learned, and that love is a choice, a daily one.

In Yeosang, Wooyoung found hope that maybe he wouldn’t always break everything he touched. That maybe he had a purpose on this earth, and that purpose was to love Yeosang, the boy who’d never been loved before.

Yes, Wooyoung knew how much Yeosang cared about him.

And that scared him.

Wooyoung turned to the nurse, who was watching him in silence.

“I know how much he cares about me, Seonghwa. Too much. He cares far too much.”

-

There hadn’t been much time to talk, so Wooyoung didn’t talk much.

He didn’t tell Seonghwa about the demon aspect because he still wasn’t even sure what that meant, and as he was already on extremely thin ice with the Yeosang predicament, he wasn’t willing to bring anything new up that he didn’t have sufficient evidence for.

Of course, Seonghwa and his psychic psychiatric powers knew that there was more to the story than Wooyoung was letting on, but he didn’t press, he never did. Yet another characteristic of the nurse that Wooyoung appreciated dearly. He did, however, tell Wooyoung that he was willing to hear him out if he had any of his own theories and that these particular conversations would always remain confidential, and Wooyoung knew he meant it.

This was immediately before Seonghwa’s buzzer alerted him that his help was needed elsewhere, but he didn’t leave until he’d made Wooyoung promise him another meeting, which he obliged.

The rest of the evening continued on in a blur of faces and puzzles, bad jokes and laughter, cafeteria food, and honey tea before bed.

Then it was nearly curfew, and Yeosang was in the middle of enthusiastically explaining the UFO documentary he’d been watching earlier while Wooyoung gathered up his shower bag and towel, grabbing some fresh pajamas to change into. Wooyoung paused to watch the way Yeosang’s hands flew around as he described the look on the nurse’s face when she walked in to find a room full of psychiatric patients with varying levels of mental stability completely engrossed in a film about conspiracy theories.

“I can’t believe they just let you guys keep watching it. You know if I were there it would have been this whole huge problem that we’re ‘not mentally strong enough to hear such scary things.’” Wooyoung sighed with a dramatic high-pitched accent, a hand flung across his forehead for extra effect.

“Well we’re not all as crazy as you, Woo,” Yeosang giggled as Wooyoung feigned offense.

He pouted, “You hurt me, Sangie.”

Wooyoung finally stood, gathering up his shower supplies, “Alright, I’m gonna head to the showers before Seonghwa skins me alive.”

Before he could, Yeosang suddenly piped up from where he sat on his cot,

“Wait, before I forget, I have something for you.”

Wooyoung turned back inquisitively and watched as Yeosang leaned over to dig around in the drawer of his bedside table. After rummaging for a few moments, the boy hummed happily when he found what he was looking for. When he sat back up, he was holding a small velvet bag.

Wooyoung crossed the room to seat himself on the bed beside Yeosang.

“What’s this?”

Yeosang placed the velvet bag in his hands, a mysterious glint in his eyes,

“Open it.”

Wooyoung tugged the drawstring loose, opened the bag, and slipped his fingers inside, stopping once he touched cold metal. Clasping it gently, he carefully pulled it free of the soft fabric and held it to the light.

In his hand, he held a rosary chain, covered in small black prayer beads and decorated on one end with a heavy metal cross.

It was beautiful.

“Yeosang,” he breathed, “what…?”

“It was my grandmother’s.” Yeosang’s eyes traced the long chain of the necklace, “She gave it to me before I came here, to keep evil away from me,” he turned to Wooyoung with a small smile, “I never believed in it that much, but if San really is a demon, I think this will serve you better than it ever would for me.”

Wooyoung ran his fingers across the ornamental cross. There were words engraved across it, in an intricate cursive script, but they seemed to be in another language, possibly Latin, and Wooyoung couldn't read them.

“It’s beautiful, Sangie. I – I can’t take this.” He held it out for Yeosang, “It’s your grandmother’s. I shouldn’t…”

Yeosang only smiled and curled his own fingers over Wooyoung’s, tucking the rosary into the palm of his hand and holding it there. Humor glinted in his eyes.

“It’s a gift, Woo. You’re not allowed to return gifts. This is for you.”

Wooyoung watched him in a mild state of awe, unable to find the words that could express how much he appreciated the gift. For once, Wooyoung was speechless in front of Yeosang, the boy who he could tell anything to.

So, he did what he knew he could, and wrapped his arms around the boy, pulling him in tightly to his chest and hoping that the shaking hands splayed across the boy’s shoulders were enough to convey how he felt.

“Thank you.” He murmured into Yeosang’s hair.

Yeosang only held him tighter.

In the year that the two boys had known each other, they had held each other in their arms countless times. It was routine for one to slip into the other’s bed at night, reaching blindly for the familiar warm body to pull close. It was custom to cuddle close in the winter months on the sofas of the chilly common room, sharing body heat underneath Yeosang’s dull blue blanket. It was habit to pull the other into their arms whenever life was especially cruel and tears formed in glassy eyes, whispering promises of brighter mornings that were sure to come.

So why did this feel so new?

Why did Yeosang’s body against Wooyoung’s chest feel so foreign, like the first day in a new city, or the first snowfall of winter? Why did the breath on Wooyoung’s neck cause his skin to prickle with anticipation, and his heart to speed up? Why did Yeosang’s little smile, when they finally pulled apart, suddenly look so unsure?

And when did Wooyoung start feeling this way?

Slowly and timidly, Yeosang’s gentle hand drifted upwards to cup Wooyoung’s cheek. He found his own hand immediately following, holding Yeosang’s hand in place.

Two pairs of familiar eyes searched each other with a foreign intensity. Two heartbeats quickened with an unfamiliar sensation.

“Wooyoung,” Yeosang breathed. Without either noticing, both boys had leaned in, until their faces were only inches apart. He had never seen Yeosang from this close before.

“I know,” he replied.

The breath on his lips was new. The hand on his cheek was foreign. But as Yeosang finally pulled him in the rest of the way, their lips finally brushing as they met in the middle, Wooyoung had never felt more at home.

The kiss was as shy, careful, and soft as the boy kissing him. Hardly more than a chaste touch of lips, but Wooyoung was overwhelmed by how deeply it affected him. They broke apart breathless and speechless, foreheads pressed together, and wonder coursing through their veins. Neither dared to speak and break the spellbound silence of that moment.

Finally, Wooyoung worked up the courage to ask the one question pressing on his mind since that afternoon in the sunshine of the gardens. In his heart, he already knew the answer,

“Is this what you were going to tell me?”

The smile that lit up Yeosang’s entire face was radiant, as the boy nodded shyly, a subtle flush across his cheeks.

“I was going to tell you… that I love you, Woo.”

Wooyoung knew this was dangerous. He knew this wasn’t the time or the place. He knew this would complicate everything so much more than it already was.

So then why was he more sure of this than of anything else in his life? Why didn’t he doubt himself even once when he cupped Yeosang’s face with both hands and breathed four words into the air between them as reverently as the holiest of prayers:

“I love you, Yeosang.”

And for the first time in his life, Wooyoung didn’t even feel the slightest pang of fear when Yeosang’s face blurred and distorted in front of his eyes, and the world around him faded in colour as though filled with a dark mist.  
Deep within his heart, he knew, that as long as Yeosang was beside him, the boy so full of love and life and hope,

Everything would be okay.

Because, for the first time in his life, he finally understood what love felt like.

And San could never take that from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I get an AMEN for team Woosang?  
> Please leave a comment and let me know what you think so far! I'm dying to know what ship you're rooting for most! Honestly, I still can't even choose, I just love them both so much T-T  
> Thanks for reading and see you next week!
> 
> xo Versace


	9. The showers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late chapter! It's a long one, so I hope that makes up for it!
> 
> **Warning** This chapter has super dub-con to it, which is why I gave this fic the Archive Warning it has.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> xo Versace

Before long, Seonghwa stopped by the room, knocking impatiently on the door. Wooyoung and Yeosang broke apart instantly at the noise, Wooyoung leaping across the room and just landing on his own bed when the nurse peeked his head in the door.

“Jung Wooyoung, can you tell me why it is that there are five minutes till curfew, and you still haven’t made it to the showers?” he arched his brow, an unimpressed frown on his face, “If you ever want to shower again, I recommend that you get your scrawny butt out here. Now.”

Wooyoung scrambled to gather his shower bag and change of clothes before pushing his way out the door, stopping to give the nurse a loud peck on the cheek and a _sorry mom_ as he slid past. He ran down the hall cackling at the sound of Seonghwa’s indignant complaints and Yeosang’s laughter behind him.

By the time he arrived at the washroom, the large room was already humid and fogged up from the showers, but there were few patients left inside. Rushing in, he noticed damp-haired Mingi and Yunho packing up their bags, and Jongho watching them disinterestedly with a green toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. Before he could sneak past them, Mingi stopped Wooyoung with a hand on his arm.

The taller boy lowered his voice with all the secrecy of a drug deal, looking around before asking, “Do you have access to duct tape?”

Wooyoung blinked twice, “Can’t say I do, why?”

Simultaneously, Yunho declared, “It’s confidential!” as Mingi answered, “I need to waterproof my pockets.” They both looked at each other. Jongho snorted.

“Don’t think that’ll work, but good luck.” Wooyoung moved to pass him but was stopped again.

“Do you know who might have some?”

Wooyoung only had to think for a moment before lighting up with a wicked grin, “Seonghwa. Definitely Seonghwa. If he says he doesn’t, he’s lying. Don’t give in to him.”

Mingi grinned, “Thanks, man! We owe you one!”

The two grabbed their things and rushed out of the washrooms, nearly tripping over each other in their haste to find the nurse.

“That was evil.” Jongho spat his toothpaste into the sink as the door swung slowly shut behind the two, “You know they’re never going to leave him alone.”

“Believe me, I know,” Wooyoung smiled sweetly before continuing to the back of the washrooms where the rows of shower stalls were. He claimed his favorite corner stall, pulling the curtain closed behind him.

The washrooms were dark and musty, with bright orange and yellow walls, as though they had never been repainted since the 1960s when the hospital was first built. The shower curtains were an equally obnoxious bright teal and felt unnervingly stiff and slippery to the touch. Wooyoung avoided touching them as much as possible. The showerheads themselves chronically leaked, the water pressure was essentially non-existent, and the spider currently curled up in the upper right corner of Wooyoung’s particular stall had been there since Wooyoung’s first day in Gonjiam. But despite all his qualms, showering was one of his most treasured moments of his day.

The water, at least, was warm. It soothed his muscles which frequently ached from the springs of his thin mattress, and it calmed his busy mind, like a weighted blanket, wrapping him in warmth and grounding him with the sensation. The showers, especially after curfew, were the one place he had utter privacy. Here, there were no cameras, no nurses, no other patients, no noise, and no responsibilities. Wooyoung could finally be vulnerable.

As he shed off each layer of his clothing, Wooyoung also could shed his mask – his pretenses. Only when Wooyoung was completely alone, could he open himself up completely, and allow himself the luxury of authenticity. Only when there was no one to be strong for, could Wooyoung finally allow himself to be weak.

Wooyoung dropped his clothing in a messy little heap on the chair in the corner and stepped onto the tile floor at the back of the shower stall. Turning the stiff metal handle, Wooyoung tested the falling water with one hand, finally stepping under the spray once it was warm to the touch. As the water washed over his face, Wooyoung sighed in contentment, the exhaustion from the day seeping out of every pore.

He pulled out his washcloth, doused it generously with a sweet-scented body wash, and massaged it between his hands until it frothed up with thick, foamy bubbles. He was just about to bring it to his chest, when, suddenly, the overhead lights flickered on and off. He froze, listening for any other presence in the washroom, but the room had long since fallen silent after Jongho had left, apart from the steady rush of water from his own shower. He looked back down at the washcloth in his hands and sucked in a breath.

Curling silently around each of his arms, was a thin black trail of smoke, like that of a recently extinguished candle. Before his eyes, the smoke grew thicker and darker, until his entire forearms were completely engulfed by it.

But as soon as the smoke had appeared, it dissipated, revealing underneath another pair of arms, long and thin, wrapped around Wooyoung’s. He felt a naked torso press up against his back and shivered.  
“San.” He breathed.

A hand carefully plucked the washcloth from Wooyoung’s hand.

“Here, let me.”

San ran the washcloth between both hands, lathering it with bubbles, and then lifted it to Wooyoung’s chest, trailing it across the firm planes of skin. Wooyoung sighed involuntarily, and allowed his head to fall back onto San’s shoulder.

“What are you doing here?”

Instead of replying, San pressed a small kiss into the back of Wooyoung’s neck, continuing to silently massage the washcloth across his torso. They stood there in silence, under the spray, and Wooyoung felt himself relax into the cold press of the body behind him. Without realizing, Wooyoung’s eyes had slipped shut, San’s hands caressing his skin and trailing along the taught muscles of his stomach with a therapeutic motion. He hummed contentedly when lips once again met his neck, but this time, he felt a tongue join them. San began pressing open mouth kisses into his shoulder, pausing to lap his tongue into the dip of Wooyoung’s clavicle.

Wooyoung’s eyes shot open, “San, stop, I can’t do this.”

He pushed San’s hands off him, turning to face the demon, but what he saw made him freeze.

Never before had he seen San look so fragile.

San’s midnight black hair, which so often stood in wild shiny waves around his face, hung limp and dull against his skin. His cheeks, usually prominent, were downright gaunt. His moonlight coloured skin somehow seemed thinner than ever before, stretched across his bones like tissue paper, the blue and purple webbing of veins unnaturally visible through the translucent flesh. His chest and arms were nearly skeletal, stomach emaciated. He had an eery blue tint to his lips and fingertips, but most noticeable of all, was the dark bruising around his eyes, carving deep circles into his eye sockets as though he hadn’t slept in weeks.

If it weren’t for the small, nearly invisible dimple that appeared when he smiled half-heartedly, Wooyoung wouldn’t even have been able to recognize the creature in front of him.

“San…” he reached forwards to touch his face and the demon instantly leaned into the touch, eyes falling shut.

“What happened to you?” he murmured, brushing his thumb along the boy’s cheek as delicately as though he might tear through the paper skin should he apply too much pressure.

When San finally spoke, his rasping voice didn’t even sound like it came from his body. His eyes opened to gaze sadly into Wooyoung’s,

“Why do you keep doing this to me?”

He looked so tired.

Wooyoung gingerly took the boy's hands in his own, trying vainly to warm the icy fingers.

“I don’t understand. San, what do you want from me?”

San took Wooyoung’s hands in his own and raised them to his lips, softly kissing his knuckles one by one.

“I want you to give in. I want you to let me in. Stop fighting me… stop pushing me away… stop trying to lock me out.”

He looked up at Wooyoung and stepped closer, into Wooyoung’s space, crowding him back towards the wall of the shower stall,

“It hurts, Wooyoung. It hurts so bad to be like this… suspended between your desires and your fears.”

Another step forwards,

“I know your turmoil, Wooyoung. I know because I’m living in it. I know your thoughts. I know your doubts and your dreams and your wants and your needs. I know exactly why you’ve never succumbed till this point, and I know why you resist me still. I know exactly why you don’t want to give your entire heart to me,” he scowled, a shadow falling over his face, “I know exactly who already owns that claim.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened.

“But Wooyoung–”

Wooyoung felt his back hit the wall behind him, but San stepped closer yet, a wild glint in his eyes.

“I can’t share you. You’re not his to take.”

Immediately, he lunged forwards, connecting their mouths in a desperate and needy kiss. His hands gripped Wooyoung’s waist, thumbs stroking along the ridges of his ribs. Wooyoung gasped, and San took the opportunity to lick into Wooyoung’s mouth, tongues instantly searching each other out and lips moving in tandem.

Wooyoung whined when San tugged his bottom lip between his teeth. His hands moved up to weave into San’s hair, pulling the creature even closer. Stumbling forwards at the motion, San lifted an arm to brace himself against the wall behind Wooyoung, while his other hand clawed at his torso.

It was only when the cool fingers dipped between his legs that Wooyoung snapped back to reality. He broke the kiss and tried to push San back, but the demon caught his arms and used the momentum to spin him around until his chest was pressed flush against the cold tiles of the shower wall. He felt San’s chest press up against him from behind, caging him in.

“San…” he panted, “Wait, we can’t… I can’t…”

The demon latched onto his neck, kissing and sucking at the soft skin. San’s tongue trailed up his neck until it reached his ear, before tracing the outer shell. Teeth clamped lightly on his earlobe and tugged, drawing a breathy gasp out of Wooyoung. The hands returned to his torso before sinking lower, tracing the dips and lines of the muscles across his stomach while they worked their way downwards.

“San, please. I can’t do this.” He tried to shove the hands away, but San clamped them onto his hips possessively, pulling him back until his entire body was flush against San’s wet skin.

The demon hissed into his ear,

“I’ve already told you to stop pushing me away. That isn’t a request, Wooyoung.”

San bit his neck harshly, sucking the skin into his mouth with enough force that Wooyoung knew would leave a mark. The demon rocked his hips forwards, grinding against him from behind. He could hear his breath hitch at the contact. Tears stung in Wooyoung’s eyes.

“- It’s a _warning_.”

“San, please stop. Don’t do this.”

Removing one hand from Wooyoung’s hip, San slid his open palm along Wooyoung’s torso, dipping lower and lower. San continued his assault on Wooyoung’s neck, licking and sucking bruises of various sizes and colours into the flesh. When a hand finally wrapped itself around Wooyoung, he gasped, mouth falling open. He tried to complain, but his mind was blurring, he couldn’t focus with the sensations surrounding him. He suddenly felt too warm, too sensitive, and too crowded in the tiny shower stall. Goosebumps pricked wherever he was in contact with San’s cold skin, and the hot spray of the shower filled the air around them with steam.

Why was he even fighting this in the first place?

“Wooyoung,” San moaned, hips rutting up against him, lubricated by the warm water dripping between them,

“Just let go. Just let me _in_.”

So he did.

He gave in, he let go. He allowed his body and mind to relax into the heat surrounding him, and the result was instantaneous. He hadn’t realized how long he had been fighting this current until he finally stopped trying to fight it and felt the ground tear out from under him as he was swept away with the torrents. He hadn’t realized how exhausting it was to hold back, until finally, _finally_ , he could let go.

He lost himself in the warmth that radiated from every place San touched him. He lost himself in the breathy moans in his ear and the deep vibrations that rumbled through the chest pinning him to the wall. He lost himself in the familiar hands working him with intention. He lost himself in the steady pace of San’s hips grinding against him from behind, the restrained rhythm soon giving way for a quick and desperate pace. He lost himself in the sound of skin against skin, the quick tugs of San’s hand, the demon’s muffled gasps into his shoulder. He gave in to the warmth that grew in the pit of his stomach, to the sensitivity, the pleasure, and the need. He succumbed completely to the familiar hands of the demon until finally, he tipped over the edge and came, spilling into the creature’s hand, mouth falling open with San’s name on his lips like a prayer.

He felt the demon behind him still, and all was silent apart from the steady rush of the shower and the soft panting in his ear.

Finally, the demon stepped away.

“There… That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?”

And with a rustle of the shower curtain, San was gone.

Wooyoung stood for a moment under the spray, staring at the space San stood just moments ago, before collapsing to his knees on the cold tiles and sobbing.

-

By the time he left the shower, the water had long since run cold, and he knew Seonghwa was going to be less than impressed, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Now that the overstimulation that always followed San’s presence was gone, he felt numb. The world around him appeared desaturated and dull, and his head just felt so _tired_.

After slipping into a pair of clean sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, he sunk into the chair in the corner of the shower and slumped back against the wall. The washrooms were comfortably silent, but Wooyoung’s usually busy mind was uncomfortably blank.

Resting his head against the wall, he looked up at the spider in the corner. He grimaced at it. Had it seen? Did it know? Was it aware that it alone bore witness to the final depletion of Wooyoung’s morals? Did it watch the final thread of his self control the moment that it finally snapped?

Curling his hand into a fist, he restrained himself from the sudden urge to kill it.

Tears stung Wooyoung’s eyes, eventually spilling over onto his cheeks and rolling down his face. He was tired of holding them back. He was tired of blinking them away and forcing down the lump in his throat. So, he let them fall. He let himself cry.

Heavy sobs wracked his body and pained wails broke from his throat. Once the flood gates had been opened, he couldn’t stop it, because all at once the emotional numbness faded away, leaving all his heightened emotions bare and sensitive and burning inside of him.

He felt the deep pang of loneliness. The bitter sting of rejection. The dull ache of never belonging, never being enough. His head ached with overthinking, and his muscles hurt from the heavy sobs, constantly hitting his frame as chaotic waves batter shipwrecks into the deadly rocks of the shallows.

He felt anger, anger at San and his deceptions, and anger towards himself for falling for them. He felt helpless, that he might never be able to escape from this vicious cycle. That he might never be free of San.

He felt betrayed. He felt abandoned. He felt used. He felt dirty. He felt so, so tired.

But above everything else, he felt completely and utterly guilty. He felt like the worst, most vile human on the face of the earth.

Not more than half an hour ago, in a room no more than twenty feet from here, innocent, kind little Yeosang had entrusted him with three words that held more power over him than any other.

He had smiled at Wooyoung with eyes filled to the brim with adoration, with sincerity, with… love.

And he had immediately given that up the moment San touched him.

That little spider in the corner was the only witness to what must officially be the lowest point of Wooyoung’s life.

With a lingering glare, Wooyoung took his things and left the cubicle.

Before he could leave the washroom, however, he stopped dead in his tracks upon catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirrors.

He blinked several times, but the image didn’t change. Stepping closer, he raised a tentative hand to his cheek and flinched back when he felt the sallow skin there.

Frantically, he wiped at the fog of the mirror, willing with every bone in his body that what he was seeing was just a trick of the eyes. But the clearer the mirror became, the clearer the horrible truth in front of him became. There was no denying it.

He had San’s face.

Not the face itself, but the sickly appearance. His plump, tanned skin was ashen and unnaturally pale, thin as paper with spiderwebs of delicate veins visible beneath. His blonde hair was dull, almost grey, and it hung limply around his face.

But his eyes.

His eyes sat deep in their sockets in an almost skeletal manner, with deep purple bruising blooming around them.

And his eyes were pure black.

Tearing his eyes from the mirror, Wooyoung clamped a hand over his mouth, suppressing the urge to scream. He sunk to the floor, legs suddenly too shaky to support his weight. He wrapped his arms around himself and tucked himself as small as he could.

The room around him began to spin, and spots danced along the edges of his vision. Wooyoung willed himself to keep breathing, but the air suddenly felt too thick, too heavy to force into his lungs. His chest felt heavy and tight as he gasped for breath.

Suddenly, the washroom door creaked open.

Seonghwa’s head peeked in, “ _Wooyoung? You’d better be in here. Do you have any idea what time it –_ Oh. Shit, are you okay?”

He rushed over to Wooyoung, who had since pressed himself into a corner, trying to hide his face from the nurse. Seonghwa tried to lift him, but he only curled tighter into himself.

“No! Don’t look at me! Leave me alone!”

“What’s the matter, Woo?” his voice was gentle, “Wooyoung, it’s okay, let me see.”

The nurse crouched patiently beside him, stroking Wooyoung’s back until he calmed down.

“What’s wrong, Wooyoung? Why are you hiding from me?”

“Y-you’re gonna worry.”

He laughed, “Hate to break it to you, but I’m already worried. It’s fine, I won’t be upset, let me see.”

Wooyoung didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to explain this, but he also knew Seonghwa wouldn’t be leaving him alone until he saw. Eventually, he sighed.

Slowly, he lifted his head from behind his knees. Seonghwa took his chin in his hand and guided it towards him so he could see more clearly.

“Oh, you were crying?” His eyes gave nothing away, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Wooyoung was stunned, “…what?”

He pulled his face from Seonghwa’s hands and rushed back to the mirror.

His normal reflection gaped back at him.

Running his hands over his tan, no longer ashen, skin, Wooyoung let out a laugh of relief, sagging against the ceramic sink.

It was then that he noticed Seonghwa watching him with a concerned crease in his brow.

“I… I think we should get you to bed.”

-

He steeled himself before opening the bedroom door.

But as he slipped inside, immediately swallowed up by the darkness of the room, the unease in his stomach only grew more intense. Against his better judgment, he stopped at the side of Yeosang’s bed.  
A sliver of light slipped through a gap in the curtain, illuminating the boy’s sleeping face with a tender glow. Wooyoung watched, mesmerized by the gentle rise and fall of his chest and the subtle part of his pink lips. He looked so serene like this. He looked so innocent.

Guilt twisted deep in his gut. His heart ached with a dull throb at the realization.

He didn’t deserve this boy.

This boy who deserved the entire world on a silver platter. This boy who had nothing in his entire soul but compassion and love for everyone that wronged him. This boy with his careful personality, his natural distrust in others, and his deliberation with every word spoken.

This boy who had looked at Wooyoung as if he were perfect. This boy who would overlook each and every one of Wooyoung’s flaws to point out each and every strength, no matter how small and insignificant. This boy who smiled at Wooyoung with the trust of a child, laying his fragile heart so carelessly on his sleeve, offering it to him with far more confidence than he deserved.

How could he ever hope to deserve him?

Reaching down, he brushed a lock of hair from Yeosang’s sleeping face. The motion caused Yeosang to scrunch up his nose and shift onto his side, nuzzling his face into his pillow before his body finally stilled again. Fondness gripped Wooyoung’s heart.

It was all he could do to finally whisper _goodnight_ and retreat to his own bed across the room. Pulling the blankets over top of himself, he slid his hand up underneath his pillow, until it touched the cool metal of the rosary that he had hidden there earlier.

He didn’t really know how to pray. He’d never really done it before. But as his fingers curled around the small metal crucifix, he found himself whispering the only words left on his tongue.

_I’m so sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry.  
> But, to be fair, we were long overdue for some angst, weren't we?
> 
> Please leave a comment! It really motivates me to write so so much! Thanks for reading!
> 
> xo Versace


	10. Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my friends!! I hope you've all been doing well.  
> I would like to formally apologize for this chapter taking so long. I was in a super intense online college course which consumed most of my free time, but I've just submitted my final project and am now officially on v a c a t i o n. So, to celebrate, here is chapter 10!!
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> xo Versace

Wooyoung always loved summer.

He had few friends, limited funds, and no car, but despite all this, what he did have was far more valuable:

_Freedom._

For two beautiful months, he had no classes, no homework, and no stress. No classmates who faked their smiles, and no teachers who didn’t even bother faking one. No evenings spent cramped over calculus equations or research papers or shitty power-point presentations.

Nothing but the wind in his face and the sun in his eyes as he terrorized the neighborhood from the seat of his bicycle. Faceless houses passed by in a blur as he sped around corners and into the fiery hues of sunset.

Behind him, his backpack bounced against him with the bumps on the road, extra heavy from the snacks he had picked up at the convenience store. He bobbed his head to the rhythm of the hip hop mixtape blaring through his headphones and swerved wildly around parked cars.

Despite his life of forced isolation, he never really minded being alone – truly alone – like this. Solitude was hard to come by with a phantom living in your mind. It was only in moments like this, moments when San was absent, that Wooyoung felt like he could finally breathe. He could finally think clearly without San clouding his mind. He could feel some sort of control over his own life again.

As the bicycle spokes clicked beneath him, he wondered, not for the first time, if he could run away. If he took off on his bicycle one day and disappeared, would San find him? If he started a new life in a new city, started over from the beginning and built a new life for himself, surrounded by new people and new faces and new buildings and new sights, would San be there too?

Was San merely the result of his present surroundings? Was he nothing more than the physical manifestation of the metaphorical demons in his life? If he distanced himself from his past – from the rumors at school, from the house haunted by memories of his father, and from the deep lines in the tired face of his mother that made her look far too old – if he ran away from his past, could he escape the demon that lingered with them?

As he rounded another corner onto a familiar street, he wondered that even if it was possible. Even if San could be escaped along with the painful clutch of his past, even if the miles put between himself and everything that haunted him, even if he could watch San’s form grow fainter and farther away along with the reminders of his life before, he wondered: could he ever bring himself to do it?

Why instead did a small part of him never cease to seek the creature out?

Why did he now find himself turning his bike down his own street and towards his house? Why was he pulling back up the driveway, swinging his legs off the aluminum frame before he was even fully stopped, and dropping the bicycle onto the patchy grass of the lawn? Why was he digging out the key from under the potted plant and turning it in the lock, opening the door to the familiar silence and emptiness of a broken home?

He was like a canary raised within a cage. He just couldn’t understand how to live outside of one. Even with the door left open, with the choice to escape available and clear, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He no longer knew how to survive on his own.

He found solace in small spaces. The cage that once suppressed him gradually became his only form of safety, his only defense from the predators outside. Every day his wings grew a little weaker and hung a little more limply by his side, until one day when the door was left open, he came to the realization that he no longer remembered how to fly.

Perhaps it was some sick form of Stockholm Syndrome, but given the chance to run away, to try to start life over again, Wooyoung found himself drifting back to his cage. He always returned to the phantom that he could no longer imagine life without. He sought out his company because he no longer understood its absence. He sought out his friendship because he no longer knew how to be alone.  
So, like the canary returns to its cage, Wooyoung found himself pushing open the door to his bedroom, the four walls of solitude where Wooyoung felt at home. And he closed the door to his cage behind him.

San was lounged across his bed, a game controller in hand. He was completely absorbed in the video game playing on Wooyoung’s shitty old TV that he had found on the side of the road a few months prior. The game station had been a gift from his mother, an older Nintendo set that she’d worked double shifts for weeks to be able to afford for his birthday.

The character on-screen suddenly died, and San looked up.

“Hey, baby. Took you long enough.” He switched to the game menu and tossed Wooyoung another controller without looking, “Here.”

Wooyoung caught the controller and smiled, dropping his backpack to the floor and collapsing onto the bed beside San. He leaned over until their shoulders were pressed together and rested his head on San’s shoulder.

“Have you been gaming this whole time?”

San hummed, switching through the menu until he had selected multiplayer. The chill vibe of the room was only enhanced by the quiet 8-bit music coming from the game.

“I always get so bored when you leave me alone. But this thing,” he tapped the console affectionately, “has been a lifesaver. I’m getting really good at this one; I’ve already beaten some of my high scores.”  
Wooyoung smiled up at him from where he still lay on the apparition’s shoulder. From this angle, he was mesmerized by the way San’s lips curled when he smiled. Small, perfect teeth peeked out from between pink lips, and his eyes turned into little crescents.

No matter how much time he spent with San, he never ceased to be amazed at how beautiful the creature was. And no matter how much time he spent with San, he was never quite able to convince himself that he didn’t find him so.

The smile on San’s face softened when he noticed Wooyoung’s stare. He turned to him.

“Whatcha thinking about, Woo?”

“You’re beautiful.” Wooyoung blurted before he could stop himself.

San’s eyes widened and he turned away, shaking his head and coughing out a laugh.

“You shouldn’t just say shit like that.”

Wooyoung sat up,

“But you are. You’re beautiful.”

San averted his eyes, hands toying with the game controller.

“You don’t have to say that, Wooyoung,” he muttered, eyes still fixed on the floor in front of him, “I already know how you feel.”

Wooyoung took San’s chin in his hand and turned it until their eyes were forced to meet. San watched him carefully. Wooyoung brushed a wild black curl from his forehead.

“You’re beautiful. You’re beautiful. You’re beautiful.” He pecked a kiss on San’s nose, “You’re beautiful. No matter how I feel towards you, that won’t change.”

San’s guarded expression slowly shifted into something darker.

He leaned in and pressed his lips to Wooyoung’s.

It was only a moment before Wooyoung pushed him away, heart racing. “San…”

“Please.” The phantom’s breath was labored, “please, Wooyoung. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. I’m not the one that needs to be persuaded.” He curled a fist into the front of Wooyoung’s shirt.

“I’m not the one that needs any more encouragement.”

Wooyoung shuffled back on the mattress, putting distance between them.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… you’re right.”

The two sat in silence for a moment, the soft music of the video game pause screen filling the room.

“Wooyoung?”

He looked up to find San watching him with something intense and possessive in his eyes. He blinked slowly up at Wooyoung before cautiously placing a hand on his knee.

“If I do this, will you push me away again?” The hand slid slowly upwards and Wooyoung’s eyelids drooped.

“Would it stop you?”

The demon answered by climbing onto his lap and kissing him deeply, hands fisting into the front of his shirt in an attempt to pull their bodies as close as possible.

Wooyoung let him.

It was always easiest like this. It was easiest to let him have his way. It was easiest to sit back and just allow it all to happen, to allow the creature to lap greedily into his mouth, to allow his icy hands to slip beneath the hem of his shirt and brush ever so softly against the skin of his stomach.

It was easiest to just allow it all to happen, to close his eyes and suppress the part of him that wanted to push San away. It was easiest to block out the warnings in his mind and the sick feeling in his stomach and to just succumb to the heat pooling within him, the friction of skin against skin, and the breathy moans against his lips.

It was easiest to pretend that everything was fine.

Over time, he’d determined that it just wasn’t worth it to say no. It wasn’t worth it to push him away, or to stop his advances. It wasn’t worth it to go on dates or make friends with anyone else. It wasn’t worth it to come home to the darkness in San’s eyes, the shadow spreading across his face, the rigid set to his jaw, or the unblinking, stony anger directed straight through him, as though directed right into his very _soul_.

It wasn’t worth the fear that one day San might actually follow up on one of his threats.

That the apparition might potentially be capable of more than he let on.

It wasn’t worth it to find out.

So Wooyoung gave in.

He succumbed as he always did to the will of the creature above him.

He lay back against the bed, and closed his eyes to the light of the room. He closed his mind to the roar of thoughts in his head that screamed at him as they always did to push San away, to ask him to stop, to ask him to leave. He closed his heart to the creature above him.

And he allowed him to have his way.

Cold fingers curled through his hair, and a soft tongue worked against his. The sensations were far too familiar. Wooyoung felt sick.

But then there was a knock on the bedroom door, followed by the questioning voice of Wooyoung’s mother.

San pulled back, a hand wiping absently across his kiss-stained mouth. Wooyoung shot him a look and the creature nodded, pausing to smooth out the wrinkles in Wooyoung’s shirt before extracting himself from Wooyoung’s lap and off the bed. While San settled in a corner of the room, Wooyoung busied himself with taking stock of his appearance, straightening his clothing, and running a hand through his mussed hair.

_“Wooyoung? Can I come in?”_

He quickly scanned the room and finding nothing out of the ordinary, was satisfied.

“Yeah, the door’s unlocked.”

The doorknob turned and Wooyoung’s mother peeked into the room. As usual, she peered around the room nervously.

“Is he…?”

“No,” Wooyoung swallowed, “San isn’t here.”

Her eyes swept the room again, gliding unseeingly over where San sat, leaning against the wall.

He really hated to lie, but far more than that, he hated the disappointment on her face whenever she realized he wasn’t getting any better. So, he did what it took to soften the furrow in her brow and allow relief to soften her expression. Anything to lighten the stress in her life.

Anything to help lift her burden.

“I just got off the phone with a new therapist. He seemed really nice; I think you’ll like this one. Young, but experienced. Very smart, but sounded genuine. And he’s had a handful of cases similar to yours, so he knows what he’s doing.” She smiled up at him, but her eyes were sad, “What do you say? Are you ready to try this again?”

Wooyoung knew the answer.

He knew that he was supposed to nod his head, smile politely, and say _yes_ and _thank you_ , and sit in the car as his mother drove him to yet another faceless therapist who would study him from across a small, stuffy room with their piercing eyes, as he’d lie back and answer their prodding questions. _Tell me more about your father, how did that affect you?_ and _how does that make you feel?_ He’d answer as honestly as he could, but deep down he never really knew.

He never knew much about his father, he didn’t know how that affected him, and quite honestly, he didn’t know how anything made him feel.

He’d leave every session with more questions than answers, more doubt, more confusion, and more inadequacy. He’d slip back into the passenger seat of his mother’s car, and when she would ask how it went, he’d smile and say _fine_. They’d drive home in silence that he enforced himself because he couldn’t bear to see the helplessness in her face every time that she realized that he still wasn’t getting any better.

And like always, he’d go back every week until the doctor inevitably recommended something else. A higher dosage, a new drug, an institution – hell, at this point, Wooyoung would take a lobotomy if it helped.

Anything to make his mother smile again. Anything to erase the worry lines across her forehead and the nervous shake of her hands when she hugged him. Anything to keep her from crying herself to sleep at night when she thought Wooyoung couldn’t hear.

So, like always, Wooyoung smiled up at his mother and prayed she’d believe it when he told her, “Sure, Mom, that sounds great.”

He sighed in relief when her face lit up a little at that before she reached over to hug him close to her chest. She was quite a bit shorter than him, so he had to lean down a considerable distance for it to work, but that never stopped her.

“All I want is for you to have your life back. I just want him to leave you alone.”

Her voice sounded far too watery, so Wooyoung placed a reassuring hand on the back of his mother’s head and stroked the coarse black hair, streaked with grey from a long and difficult life.

“I’ll help you do whatever it takes to get rid of him. I love you, Woo. I just want you to be free.”

At that, Wooyoung’s eyes drifted across the room to where San was watching from the corner, expressionless.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung swallowed roughly and looked away, too guilty to meet his eyes, “Whatever it takes.”

When he finally risked another glance, the corner was empty, and San was gone.

Wooyoung’s mother pulled back and smiled up at him with teary eyes, but Wooyoung couldn’t bring himself to smile back.

San didn’t return for the rest of the night.

-

Wooyoung closed the book in his hands.

The book with its cover faded and worn, the pages dog-eared and well-loved, and the annotations throughout. The one remnant of his mother.

Four-hundred and twelve days.

Four-hundred and twelve nights in his room at Gonjiam Psychiatric Hospital.

Four-hundred and twelve days of therapy, drugs, and appointments with Dr. Kim.

Four-hundred and twelve days of wrestling with his demon.

And four-hundred and twelve days since he’s seen her.

He flipped open the cover of the book of poems, uncovering the short message inside written in blue ink, the handwriting as neat and tidy as his mother herself.

_To Wooyoung, my beloved son.  
My light in the darkness, my joy in the pain.  
There will never be a day that I don’t love you  
With my entire heart, and my entire being.  
You are my everything.  
I love you.  
_

Absently, he brushed a thumb over the letters, the only piece of his mother that he had. Over a year spent inside the hospital, and he hadn’t hear from her once. No phone calls, no visits, not even a letter. Nothing but the two short lines jotted inside the cover of her favorite book.

He wasn’t even sure what would hurt more, knowing if she wasn’t capable of contacting him, or knowing if she chose not to.

The arrival of Seonghwa diverted his attention. The tall nurse walked up to where he sat, curled in a corner of the empty common room. When Wooyoung had first arrived, the room was full and bustling with activity, but somehow since then, it had completely emptied out without him noticing.

He must have zoned out again. It wasn’t unusual for him to lose himself to his thoughts, and tune out the outside world. It was a skill he’d developed and perfected over time.

“Hey,” Seonghwa smiled down at him, “Group therapy starts in 10 minutes, I was wondering where you were.”

“Sorry,” he let the cover of his book fall closed in his hands, and rubbed the heel of his palm against his groggy eyes. “I must have lost track of time.”

The nurse waved off his apology, "Come on," he smiled, nodding his head in the direction of the doorway, "I’ll walk with you.” 

Before he could turn to leave, Wooyoung stopped him.

“Seonghwa… we’re allowed to have visitors, right?”

He froze for a moment before turning back. His formerly lighthearted expression had vanished.

“In some circumstances, if the doctor’s determined that it will help in the process of the patient’s recovery, and won’t negatively affect them, then yes, guests may be permitted.”

What an uncomfortably textbook answer.

“Why hasn’t my mom come to visit me?”

Seonghwa worried his lip between his teeth, eyebrows furrowing, “She… won’t be able to come see you. I’m sorry.”

“Did something happen? Is she okay?”

“I’m sorry, Wooyoung, I’m not allowed to talk about this.”

“What do you mean?” Wooyoung sat up, “Why not?”

The nurse was silent for a moment. His mouth opened and closed a few times, before he finally sighed, reaching over to rest a heavy hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder. When he finally cracked a small smile, it never reached his eyes.

“I need you to trust me, Wooyoung. You won’t be having any guests while you’re here. That’s as much as I’m permitted to say, so _please_ don’t push this further. It’s for your good, I promise.”

The nurse glanced down at his watch, “Come on, we’re going to be late for group discussion if we don’t hurry.”

-

The blue room, as it was most commonly referred to, was bustling with activity. Inside, chairs were placed in a large circle, facing inwards. Most of the seats were already taken by the time Wooyoung arrived with Seonghwa in tow. As he slipped into one of the empty chairs, he quickly scanned the room for one face in particular, but it was hardly more than a moment before he found him.

Yeosang’s smile was impossible to miss.

The boy was seated directly across the circle from him and sandwiched between Jongho and Mingi, the latter of which was carefully clutching an oddly suspicious-looking Styrofoam cup. Yeosang was laughing at something Jongho was saying, and Wooyoung watched in unbridled adoration as the boy’s shoulders shook with the force. Mid-laugh, the boy’s eyes met Wooyoung’s, and somehow his smile brightened even _more_.

He was breathtaking.

Wooyoung stuck his tongue out at him, and Yeosang made a face in return before immediately turning shy and burying his face into his blanket.

It had taken a long time to get used to this. At first, it was uncomfortable, finding a seat on his own. He was so used to always belonging somewhere, wherever Yeosang was. He was used to always having a seat saved, or always being sure to save one. He had grown so accustomed to being wherever the smaller boy was, that sitting alone felt unnatural and wrong. But over time, he grew to treasure every moment he could share with him. Every glance, every smile, every little brush of hands, and every quick, secret kiss before retreating to bed – every single crumb that he could take, he took gladly.  
When Yeosang finally resurfaced from the safety of his blanket, Wooyoung shot him a wink.

The boy’s face immediately bloomed bright red, and he furiously diverted his gaze from Wooyoung’s half of the circle from that moment on.

Just then, the door to the blue room swung open, and an unexpected face appeared.

Wooyoung’s eyes widened and he froze in his seat.

A pair of dark, predatory eyes scanned the circle, now dead silent at the arrival of the newcomer, before landing directly on Wooyoung.

Seonghwa cleared his throat before motioning to the figure in the doorway,

“Everyone, I’d like you to welcome the newest transfer to our ward. He’s just moved over this morning, and will from now on be joining us for our activities. Please make him feel welcome.”

He gestured to the figure still standing in the doorway, “Do you mind telling everyone your name?”

He smirked, eyes never leaving Wooyoung's.

“My name is San.”

Seonghwa looked nervously between the two.

"You can help yourself to an empty seat, we were just about to get started," Seonghwa nudged him forwards by the shoulder.

Wooyoung tore his gaze from the demon in the doorway and forced himself to stare at the floor in front of him, focusing on his breathing.

_In_  
_Out_  
_This can't be happening. This isn't real._  
He met Yeosang's terrified eyes from across the circle just as a hand grabbed the back of the empty chair beside him and scraped it backward against the linoleum floor. The screech echoed loudly in the stunned silence of the room.

In the corner of his vision, a dark silhouette settled into the chair beside him.

Every patient in the room except Wooyoung stared at the stranger.

Seonghwa clapped his hands together enthusiastically in an effort to ease the newfound tension in the room.

" _Great,_ let's begin."

When the attention finally left the newcomer, and the sound of voices finally replaced the stony silence from before, the figure beside him leaned over into Wooyoung's space. Wooyoung resisted the urge to flinch away when a far too familiar voice whispered,

"Hey baby... did you miss me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more filler-y and slow than I wanted it to be, but it's also super important and I couldn't leave it out, so please bear with me!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, thank you so much for all the kudos and love you've given this fic, and a HUGE thank you to all of you that have commented! Reading your theories and thoughts and feelings makes my entire day and motivates me so much!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'll see you soon!!
> 
> xo Versace


	11. The transfer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!! Here's chapter 11 a day early!! 
> 
> I just want to say a huge thank you to everyone that has read this fic up to this point, and especially to everyone who have left kudos and sweet comments <3
> 
> I'm feeling so incredibly blessed with the amazing and supportive response this work has received so far, and I just wanted to let you all know how much I appreciate you. Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Enjoy the new chapter!
> 
> xo Versace

“Alright everyone, we’ll go around the circle and everyone will get a chance to tell us one accomplishment you’ve made this week. It can be anything. No matter how big or small it may seem to you, if you’re proud of yourself for it, that’s more than enough reason to share.”

Seonghwa began the session, smiling warmly at the faces surrounding him in the blue room.

“I’ll begin: this week, I finally finished a book that I’ve been working through for months. I’m proud of this because I’ve never been good at staying dedicated on one task for long periods of time, so this has never been easy for me.”

After a brief pause, the nurse turned to Hongjoong who had somehow slipped into the seat on his left.

“Your turn.”

So, the circle continued, each patient in turn telling the rest of the room their accomplishments. Some patients took longer amounts of time, rambling on in a distracted manner, while some barely whispered a few words before moving on to the next in line.

Wooyoung didn’t hear any of them. All he could focus on, all he was aware of in that small blue room, was the demon currently studying his nails in the chair directly beside him.

They were seated so close together in the circle that should Wooyoung open his legs juuust a little wider, their thighs would brush. The proximity made it extremely difficult to ignore him, but San seemed to be doing a good job of that on his own.

_Did you miss me?_

Ever since the initial comment whispered into his ear as the demon found his seat, Wooyoung’s mind had been racing nonstop, whirling and spinning with anxiety and uncertainty.

For six years of his life, Wooyoung had been plagued by an invisible force, unseen by the rest of the world. Six years of being harassed and beaten relentlessly by his classmates over his “imaginary friend.” Six years of lying awake at night while books fell sporadically from his shelves and footsteps paced his bedroom until he fell into restless sleep, which offered little to no respite. Six years of nightmares that blurred the lines between waking and slumber due to their unsettling realism. Six years of looking into San’s eyes and wondering how any mortal mind could ever dream up something as simultaneously beautiful and terrifying as San.

Six years of believing that none of this was real.

This couldn’t be real.

But all he had to do was turn his head to the side, only slightly, and there sat the demon in all his horrible realness. There he sat looking unnaturally beautiful compared to the pasty, tired faces of the other patients in the room.

Seated directly beside Wooyoung, was the very apparition that was never supposed to be anything more than the creation of his mind. San was meant to be a miscommunication of the neurons in Wooyoung’s head. He was supposed to be an accident, developed by Wooyoung’s brain. He was supposed to be a coping mechanism, a form of validation to fill the void in his heart, a companion to fill the role for a friendless child, or whatever other theories his previous psychiatrists had suggested.

San was supposed to be the manifestation of the love and attention that Wooyoung never found in the four crumbling walls of his broken home.

So how could it possibly be true that he was seated now, in the middle of a circle of patients, looking so strangely at home in a body of flesh and bones? If he were to prick his finger, Wooyoung wondered in a daze, would human blood drip out? Where did the resemblance end? Where did the manifestation end and mortality begin? When did San stop being anything more than a figment of the mind?

What did reality even mean at this point anyway?

What even was reality other than a means of escaping one’s dreams? What was reality besides the buffer before confinement to the subconscious? What was reality other than a brief moment of sanity before returning to the nightmares that plundered Wooyoung’s life since he was a child?

The waves had long since rolled up on the shore, and washed away any remnants of the lines in the sand. San, he realized, wasn’t either Wooyoung’s reality or his delusion. San simply _was_.

The creature danced between the two, tiptoeing so daintily along the line like a tightrope walker balanced precariously on a wire. San swung back and forth as he pleased, as simply as placing one foot out and taking the step. He wasn’t confined to the notions of _real_ or _surreal_.

Instead, he was neither, and yet both at the same time.

He wasn’t a mixture of the two. He didn’t have one foot dipped into each world.

San wasn’t _partially_ real or _partially_ not. Rather, the demon was somehow entirely and completely both all at once. He was the embodiment of both the physical body and the imaginings of the subconscious mind.

San could only be defined as the indefinable. No mortal could ever be capable of understanding a being so complex. San was so much more than a man, and so much more than a myth. San was the lone gateway between the two. San alone could wander back and forth, between worlds, between realities, as easily as the sea could flow between high and low tide.

San was a _force_. A presence. A power.

San simply was, and suddenly Wooyoung felt foolish for ever having tried to understand him. No psychiatrist, no number of therapy sessions, and no psychiatric institution could ever dream to unravel the anomaly of nature who was Choi San. The creature currently seated in a circle for a group therapy session at Gonjiam Psychiatric Hospital.

Wooyoung’s thoughts were interrupted by Seonghwa’s clear voice cutting through the air like a knife,

“Wooyoung, you’re up.”

He looked up to find every pair of eyes on him – one of which unsettled him more than all others combined. He tried to keep the blood from rushing to his face as he quickly stammered out an answer,

“I’m– um… I’ve managed to… to sleep through the night twice this week without medication. That doesn’t often happen, so… yeah…” His voice had nearly dropped to a whisper by the time he was done speaking.

He felt so deeply uncomfortable under the gaze of the demon. None of the other thirty or so patients even registered in his mind, as all of his thoughts, all of his senses and his instincts were trained on the demon beside him.

He finally understood how a mouse felt under the predatory gaze of a cat, with nowhere to hide.

But then all the eyes in the room shifted eagerly to the new face in their midst, and the spotlight shifted away from Wooyoung, who sighed in relief and sunk back into his chair to watch.

At the silence that followed, San looked up and peered around the room, studying the faces around him. Everyone in the circle sat in rapt anticipation to hear what the newcomer would say. The air in the room was simultaneously tense and eager as San’s cold blank eyes concluded their sweep around the room.

Once they finally landed back on Wooyoung, a sly glint flashed through his eyes before he turned back to face the room.

Immediately, his blank expression broke, allowing the warmest and most dazzling smile to take over his face.

Wooyoung’s jaw dropped.

“Hi, everyone. I’m proud because I’ve earned an early discharge from solitary with good behavior.”

He gave one last blinding smile to the room, dimples in full effect, before slouching back in his chair and smirking up at Wooyoung as the attention again shifted to the next patient in line.

Under the sound of the other patients recounting their successes, San leaned and lowered his voice to barely a whisper,

“You know… It isn’t hard to behave when you have the right incentive.”

Wooyoung pointedly ignored him.

There were no doubts. This was San. Insufferable, cocky, arrogant San. Able to control an entire room full of psychiatric patients as easily as he could control Wooyoung’s fragile heart.

But why?

Why was he here?

What was he hoping to attain?

What game was San trying to play here? It was as though Wooyoung was dancing across the tiles of a chessboard blindfolded, trying blindly to escape from the constant state of _check_ that San managed so easily to place him in. No matter where he moved, forwards or backwards, behind the safety of those who he knew were on his side, somehow San always found him and cornered him with all the effort it took to slide a rook across a board.

What was his strategy here?

What was his goal?

Did Wooyoung ever actually manage to outwit him, or was every single move he made a part of San’s master plan?

Was it possible to outsmart the very creator of the game he was playing?

And at what cost?

Wooyoung’s gaze stopped when he noticed Yeosang across the circle.

The boy was so small, so fragile curled beneath his threadbare blanket. His hands worked mindlessly through the fabric as he mouthed along to the thoughts that were surely running through his head. Wooyoung knew exactly what he was doing – he was practicing his lines for when it would be his turn to speak.

Wooyoung watched him numbly.

_How many pieces would he have to surrender in order to win this game?_

Wooyoung was suddenly pulled from his thoughts by a loud burst of laughter from Jongho. He tuned into the commotion occurring across the room just in time to hear Seonghwa screech,

_“Mingi, where the hell did you even **find** a fish??”_

The nurse was frantically trying to extricate the Styrofoam cup from its precarious position as Mingi held it triumphantly above his head. At the same time, Yunho was complaining loudly that Mingi had stolen his accomplishment.

“But that’s what _I_ was gonna say! It’s not fair!”

“Now is _not_ the time, Yunho,” Seonghwa had somehow managed to take possession of the cup and was awkwardly holding it, clearly unsure of what to do with it now that he had it.

Crisis averted, the chaos slowly dwindled down and Wooyoung found his attention drifting back to the demon beside him.

He startled when he found San’s eyes already on him.

The creature was sitting with his legs tucked up beneath him on his chair, and he had clearly been studying Wooyoung for some time. He cocked his head to the side and shamelessly stared.

“You’re cute when you’re confused.”

Wooyoung frowned.

“Why are you here?” he asked curtly.

San smirked at him for a moment before leaning into his space and lowering his voice to a murmur, eyes never once leaving Wooyoung’s.

“You can keep running from me until you exhaust yourself, and you can try to convince yourself of every lie you’re willing to believe in order to deny the truth; but listen to me and listen well: I will always find you.

Jung Wooyoung, you belong to me. Run all you like, but I _will_ hunt you down. And I will not stop until I have you,”

At that, San glanced up and turned to look deliberately at Yeosang, attempting to console Yunho who was still complaining loudly. As though aware of the eyes on him, Yeosang turned to them, visibly uncomfortable. San turned back to Wooyoung; the smirk still glued to his lips.

“…And have you all to myself.”

The demon gave Wooyoung one last predatory stare before turning back to face the room, slumping down in his chair.

The room had settled down now, the fish being properly confiscated, and Seonghwa had just made the announcement that they were to split up into smaller groups to work on the next exercise. Wooyoung, suddenly feeling incredibly dizzy, saw his opportunity and took it.

“Seonghwa, I’m not feeling well. Can I step out early, today?”

The nurse rested the back of his hand against Wooyoung’s forehead. The cool of his skin felt unusually good on Wooyoung’s burning skin. Seonghwa frowned as he took his hand away.

“You’re burning up. What’s wrong, Woo?” he peered carefully around their vicinity before whispering, “Is this because of San?”

Wooyoung swallowed heavily. The room around him spun and he clung to the nurse’s arm for support, barely able to nod in response.

Behind him, he heard Yeosang’s worried voice, “Is he okay?”

Seonghwa was already guiding Wooyoung to the door, “He’s going to be fine, Yeosang. I’ll let you check up on him later, alright?”

And Wooyoung looked back in time to watch the door to the blue room swing closed between them, the concern knitted into Yeosang’s brow slowly vanishing from sight, until the door settled shut with a muted _click._

The hallways outside were blissfully empty and Wooyoung could breathe again.

“What was that?” Seonghwa walked beside him, hands still carefully holding Wooyoung steady.

“It’s him, Seonghwa,” his throat felt too dry, “I know I’ve said this before, and I know you still don’t believe me… hell, I didn’t believe it until now… but San is real. He’s real, but at the same time, he’s not.”

Seonghwa stopped them in the middle of the hallway, turning Wooyoung to face him.

“I’m not following?”

Wooyoung let out a heavy breath, eyes fixed on his sneakers,

“San is a demon, Seonghwa. He told me.” His sneakers began to blur in front of him, and it took him a moment to realize that it was due to the tears welling up in his eyes,

“San’s a demon. And I think… I think he’s trying to possess me.”

The seconds ticked by silently as Wooyoung watched a single tear fall from his eye to land on the concrete floor of the hallway. Seonghwa gave no response, but also made no move to walk away.

“I know it seems impossible. Honestly, I don’t even believe it myself, yet. But… I don’t know how else to explain it,” the tears began to fall so easily, “I’ve seen him, Seonghwa. I’ve seen him at night since I was twelve. I’ve seen him at school, I’ve seen him in my house, in my room, in my _dreams._ And now… now I see him _here_ … I recognized him, the first day he arrived. I recognized his face, even though half of it was covered. I recognized his presence, his mannerisms, his eyes… And, Seonghwa…” his shoulders were shaking now, uncontrollably,

“Seonghwa… he recognized me too…”

It was then that a pair of warm arms wrapped themselves around him, and Wooyoung found himself sobbing into a familiar pair of scrubs. Seonghwa tightened his arms and rested his chin on Wooyoung’s head. A gentle hand stroked lightly at his back as he cried, smoothing out his rumpled sweater and tracing reassuring circles into his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Woo.” His voice was hoarse, and it took a moment for Wooyoung to realize that Seonghwa was crying too.

He didn’t know how long they stood there like that in the hall, but when they finally broke apart, his eyelids drooped heavily with exhaustion. He rubbed at his stinging eyes with the sleeve of his sweater.

“Why do we have to have emotions?” he huffed.

Seonghwa hiccupped out a laugh, “Because otherwise we wouldn’t be human, would we?”

_Would we?_

__

_Is emotion evidence of one’s humanity?_

__

_How then, can we explain a lack thereof?_

San’s cold, unfeeling eyes flashed through his mind. As dark and deep as the soul beneath.

Wooyoung pushed aside any lingering thoughts of San. He could deal with the new reality tomorrow. He could deal with the repercussions and the complications that this new situation was sure to provoke. But for now, he needed to sleep, to collapse into the sheets of his bed and forget everything for awhile.

Now that his mind had finally ceased its frantic turning, he felt numbness wash over his entire person like a warm blanket, and he subconsciously leaned into the feeling. As he purged the tears from his body, they had taken with him any lingering traces of stress, anxiety, and fear. He was at peace, the way the world settles into calmness immediately following a raging tempest.

His mind was numb and his bones were weary.

The daily toll of existence was wearing him thin, and all he wanted was a brief escape from it. All he wanted was a temporary surrender to unconsciousness. A brief moment in which he too could stand suspended between two worlds. A moment to dip one foot into the other world, into the subconscious mind.

He looked up to find Seonghwa watching him, eyes red from tears. The nurse was studying him silently, but in no way clinically.

The Seonghwa standing before him now was not his nurse, but his friend.

“I think…” Seonghwa began before cutting himself off. He looked thoughtful for a moment before shaking head and huffing out a small laugh,  
  
“I think I might actually believe you, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung looked up, wide-eyed.

“W-what?”

“But,” Seonghwa’s smile dropped, “Dr. Kim will take more convincing. Unfortunately, his requirements still stand. Please don’t bring this up with him – _especially_ not Yeosang – until I’ve managed to look into this more.”

Wooyoung nodded, but his mind was racing with the possibilities that this could mean.

“I’m going to do some research and see what I can find. If I’m going to persuade a practicing psychiatrist, with more years of experience than I’ve spent alive, that this particular case involves spiritual-freaking-warfare… I’m going to have to build up one hell of an indestructible case. That will not be easy.

However,”

The nurse’s smile slowly creeped back into his expression, “You can absolutely bet that I’m going to try

-

Seonghwa brought Wooyoung back to his unit, allowing him to take the rest of the day off from scheduled activities, and to catch up on sleep.

He smiled up at the nurse, whose eyes were still puffy from crying,

“Thank you, Seonghwa.”

He tilted his head, “For what?”

Wooyoung’s heart was so full, he thought it may burst at the seams,

“For believing me.”

“Honestly, you should know this by now, Woo,” the nurse rested a warm hand on his shoulder, “You’ve always got me in your corner. I promise.”

Wooyoung couldn’t describe the change in the way Seonghwa looked at him until after he had bid him goodbye, closed the door to his bedroom, and buried himself beneath the sheets; but as he lay there, eyes peering unseeingly into the darkness above him, he finally understood.

For the first time since San had entered Wooyoung’s life,

Someone looked into his eyes,

And saw him, for who he truly was.

Not a schizophrenic. Not a poor, abused child from a broken home. Not somebody that could see things that nobody else could.

He saw Wooyoung.

And he believed him.

And for the first time since San had entered Wooyoung’s life,

Wooyoung finally believed himself, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, sex is cool, but have you ever tried having a BEAUTIFUL PLATONIC FRIENDSHIP?  
> #woohwa4ever
> 
> A couple notes: 
> 
> 1\. I'll be starting a new full-time job tomorrow that will take up most of my time for the next 6 weeks. I'm not sure how much time I'll have to write and upload, but I'm still going to aim to post once a week, most likely on weekends, just know there may be delays. If I know I'm going to be behind on an update, I'll let you guys know on my twitter (@thx_its_versace).
> 
> 2\. I made a moodboard for this fic and you can also find that on my twitter! I'm definitely not great at editing, but it was a lot of fun to make and push some headcanons for this fic out there. 
> 
> 3\. I originally intended this fic to have 18 chapters including the epilogue, but don't be surprised if I end up adding a few extra so that the pacing stays consistent. We're over halfway through the fic and shit's. about. to. go. down. so I want to make sure the next few chapters aren't too rushed. 
> 
> 4\. I hope you're all staying healthy and happy! Have a lovely week and kick some butt at whatever goals you have to accomplish! I believe in you!!
> 
> That's it, that's all! Thanks again for reading, it means so much to me!
> 
> See you next week,
> 
> xo Versace


	12. The dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Chapter 12! Enjoy the ride!

It was uncomfortably quiet in the car.

Outside, the rain was falling softly, flowing in aimless trails down the windshield and reflecting the glow of the taillights from the cars in front of them. The world was a blur of greys and neon reds, from the LED store signs and stoplights that illuminated the dark afternoon. Foot traffic was scarce due to the weather, but any souls brave enough to endure the drizzle were hidden behind opaque umbrellas, hoods, and coats, flitting faceless through the streets of the city.

Inside the car, the air was warm and dry. Wooyoung was curled up in the passenger seat, dirty sneakers up on the dashboard and forehead resting against the foggy glass of the window beside him. The radio was playing on a low volume, some song from the 80s that Wooyoung’s mother liked. He’d heard her listen to it many times before.

This time was different.

She didn’t hum along or sing under her breath. She didn’t tap her fingers in a soft rhythm against the steering wheel or bob her head to the music. She seemed entirely unaware that the song playing was one she even knew.

This could only mean that she was thinking, and Wooyoung knew exactly what was on her mind.

“So, what do you think of him?”

He knew what was coming.

“I liked him. He seemed nice.”

His mother nodded slowly; a wrinkle appearing in the middle of her forehead.

“How do you think things went?”

He thought for a moment, before answering truthfully, “I don’t know.”

His mother sighed.

Wooyoung watched as two raindrops raced down the passenger window beside him, twisting and winding along, veering off into different directions when you would least expect it.

He felt like a raindrop, veering, and turning without purpose or direction. Pulled along by an unforeseen force.

His eyes flickered up to meet a glimmering black pair in the rear-view mirror. San watched him from the back seat, cat-like and silent.

The invisible force

Pulling him, pushing him along through his life

Like a raindrop on a windowpane

Was his existence just as meaningless?

“I know it’s been mentioned before,” Wooyoung’s eyes left the mirror and drifted back over to his mother whose grip on the steering wheel hadn’t loosened,

“But have you considered his suggestion?” finally, her worried gaze met his,

“To be institutionalized?”

There it was.

The elephant in the room.

The heavy weight in the air between them.

Finally pushed into the open, into the light, where it could no longer be swept aside and ignored.

Wooyoung slumped back in his seat, again finding himself enraptured by the raindrops. He stroked a single fingertip along the trail one left behind.

“I have.”

He was uncomfortably aware of the phantom in the backseat.

His mother sighed, but he couldn’t decipher exactly what it meant.

“If you’re going to do it, you really should start to think about it now. Like he said, you’ve just graduated. You don’t have work or university plans lined up yet, so you have the time. You can afford to disappear for a while and really work at this. We have the money; we can afford to send you somewhere nice.”

Her voice was growing thick,

“Somewhere with good doctors and friendly staff and a good reputation. Maybe they’ll have a garden where you can walk in the summer,”

A single tear fell from her eye as a star from heaven.

“And they’ll find a way to help you. They-they’ll find a way to give you your life back.”

With a soft tick of the turn signal, the car drifted into the driveway of their house. The rain was still falling in constant streams, pattering against the roof of the car.

His mother didn’t move to get out. Wooyoung placed a hand on hers, still tightly gripping the wheel.

“What… what is it that you want, Mom?”

Another tear.

“I want my son back.”

Five whispered words, a prayer into the abyss before them. Two broken hearts, with nothing but the bond of a mother and child holding them together, the fragile pieces too sharp and too jagged at the edges. The rain falling from the sky couldn’t dream to hold as much sorrow as the grief of the shells of two people who could no longer recognize each other.

A mother who could no longer recognize her son, marred and plagued by unseen things, tormented and terrorized day and night until he no longer knew when he was dreaming.

A son who no longer knew his mother, her hair suddenly being far too grey, her skin far too wrinkled, and her eyes far too distant.

Two souls once knit together tightly, now stretched apart to the furthest extent of their reach.

A mother and her child, each haunted by their own demon, and each one as helpless to their taunts. Two birds trapped in cages far too small, each one quickly forgetting what it had once felt like to be free. Two pieces on a chessboard, never seeming to advance, but rather watching as their pieces were taken from them one by one.

Wooyoung tightened his grip on his mother’s frail hand.

“I’ll find your son.” He whispered into the air around them, “I’ll bring him back.”

One last time, he found himself staring into the stony gaze in the car behind him. San’s expression never gave anything away, but he knew the creature too well. He knew that this level of calm could only ever precede a storm. Somewhere beneath that cool complexion, a fury was brewing. It was only a matter of time as to when it would be unleashed.

He tilted the mirror away.

“Whatever it takes.”

-

As the door to his bedroom swung slowly shut, the storm finally broke.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

San was _pissed_.

The creature stood across the dark room from him, arms crossed, the soft twilight from the window illuminating the sharp edges of his face.

“You’re not seriously considering this, are you? Come on, an _institution?_ Just how weak do you think you are?”

Wooyoung stood with his back pressed against the door to his bedroom, maintaining as safe a distance from the creature as he could afford.

“Come on… what will people think of you if you turn yourself in like that, hm? That you’re some kind of freak? That you really are the psycho they already think you are?” the demon’s voice grew louder and with it, the rain outside fell harder. Thunder rumbled low both somewhere in the distance and somewhere within the demon’s chest.

“Is that what you are, huh? Some pathetic _freak??_ Can’t handle the thoughts in his own damn _head??_ ”

The lights to his bedroom flickered on and off. A book fell to the floor from his bookshelf, landing at Wooyoung’s feet with its pages spread open.

“Why do you hate me _so much_ that you want nothing more than to get rid of me? Why did you pull me into your mind only to break me and shove me back out? Why can’t I ever make you actually _want_ me??”

Another book fell. The lamp hanging from Wooyoung’s ceiling swung wildly.

Wooyoung slid down the door behind him onto the ground, curled up into himself.

 _“Why do you keep pushing me away??”_ San’s voice was unearthly, rumbling low and menacing, deeper than Wooyoung had ever heard it before. It sounded almost like a room full of voices speaking in unison.

A loud crash echoed through the room as San shoved the rest of the books off his shelf.

_“Why do you keep doing this to me?? Why do you keep shutting me out, when all I want from you is to LET ME IN??”_

Wooyoung fumbled in his bag for his headphones, fingers shaking too much for him to shove them into his ears on the first try. He turned on a random song and turned up the volume, but he couldn’t drown out the horrible screams of the beast.

San’s eyes were pure black and filled with pain. His face was contorted in agony, and his body shook with violent spasms. The wild black hair fell in untamed curls around his eyes, as a crown made of darkness itself.

 _“What will it take for you to give in?”_ the lights flickered again; electricity crackled through the room, _“What will it take for you to let me in?”_ the bookshelf against Wooyoung’s wall collapsed, its contents spilling out across the floor. The light fixture on the ceiling continued to sway wildly and flicker occasionally. The heavy curtains by Wooyoung’s window flapped up, pushed by some invisible wind.

_“What are you willing to give up? What will it take? What is it going to take to BREAK you?”_

Tears were streaming down San’s pitiful face. His entire body was bent in unnatural angles. The darkness in the room seemed to flow out of him.

He was terrifying.

Wooyoung closed his eyes.

The melody flowing through his headphones acted as an anchor, as a way of grounding himself in reality. He whispered along to the lyrics, trying vainly to latch on to anything, _anything_. Anything but the horrible, inhuman creature in front of him. Anything but San. Anything –

A voice like glass cut through the room. A voice like glass in its clarity and like honey in its sweetness.

The eye of the storm.

_What will it take for you to love me?_

When he lifted his head, San was kneeling in front of him, the white again returned to his eyes, and sorrow painted into every corner of his face.

“Why do you keep doing this to me…? Why… why do you keep pushing me away…?” his voice dripped with bitterness and hurt. There was not a single hint of anger in his words, only hurt. Deep, wretched hurt.

“I never asked for this, Wooyoung. I never asked to be drawn to you. I never chose to be attached to your spirit, to be invited inside.” Wooyoung watched as misery etched itself so deeply into the lines of San’s face. He could almost _feel_ the demon’s agony, flowing out from his core like a high tide from the sea.

“You did this, Wooyoung. You chose me. You pulled me into your soul. You dragged me out of your father’s hold and claimed me for your own... that was _your_ choice.” Wooyoung watched as the blackness once again took over San’s eyes, but this time, he looked weak, pitiful.

“I never asked for this…” his voice was barely audible, “So why do you keep making this so painful for me?”

San’s face slowly morphed again into anger, fury, like a hurricane building up in the ocean.

_“Why do you keep hurting me?”_

Wooyoung closed his eyes and turned up the volume of the song playing in his ears.

_“WHY DO YOU KEEP PUSHING ME AWAY??”_

He buried his face into his knees and shoved the demon out of every corner of his mind.

He sobbed.

He sobbed as he felt the room around him shake.

He sobbed as he heard the crashing and shattering of his belongings as they flung themselves from his shelves and dressers.

He sobbed as the world around him crackled with electricity and the window finally burst open, rain billowing into his room from the storm outside.

He sobbed and sobbed until the unearthly screams finally faded away, and the world around him melted into stillness, and he was finally pulled into the deep abyss of sleep.

-

When Wooyoung woke, it was well after midnight.

His playlist had finally run out of songs and had just begun to repeat through his headphones. Wooyoung’s room was tranquil in its turmoil. Books strewn about, clothes thrown across the floor, bookcases, and dressers collapsed face-down in the middle of the room.

The carnage that remains after the fury of a storm has passed.

And the silence.

The eerily peaceful silence.

San was gone, with no trace but the chaos left in his wake as a reminder – or rather – as a promise. An undeniable promise of what was to come.

San didn’t return for the rest of the week.

-

Wooyoung stood on a rocky outcrop overlooking a turbulent black sea.

Miles beneath him, the inky waves crashed against the shore before bubbling back and receding into the shining satin cloth of the ocean. Wind tugged at his hair and clothing, but it wasn’t cold. The tall grass around him whispered with a thousand voices, but apart from the grass and roar of waves so far below, the world was eerily silent.

As he turned his head, he noticed a figure standing several feet away on another outcrop. At first, they were silhouetted by the moonlight behind them, but as they turned to face him, Wooyoung startled at the familiar features.

It was Yeosang.

Their eyes met, but Yeosang gave no evidence that he recognized Wooyoung in the slightest. He simply watched him in stony silence, unmoving, unwavering.

Then, he turned away, and Wooyoung had barely processed the boy’s actions before his entire body ran cold.

Yeosang had stepped to the edge of the cliff,

And dove.

Immediately, Wooyoung broke into a run, only skidding to a stop once his feet had reached the very end of the precipice.

Several miles beneath, the ocean churned with a sickening deadliness.

Yeosang was nowhere to be seen.

Wooyoung stood, one foot hanging off the edge of the abyss, faced with the eternal question that never ceased to torment him.

_What price are you willing to pay?_

The moon glinted off the waves deep down below, and Wooyoung’s stomach dropped.

What was he willing to pay?

His foot hung precariously over the edge. The wind whipped through his clothing, suddenly chilling him to the bone. Lightning flashed overhead.

At what point was the cost too great? How much was he willing to lose?

When did it become too much?

His foot swung away from the edge, settling itself firmly on the rock of the cliff. Somberly, he watched the waters below, no sign of Yeosang in the blanket of black beneath. He felt numb.

What was the cost?

With a deep breath of ocean air, he turned to walk away. A hand on his stomach immediately stopped him.

San stood before him, clothed in midnight and crowned with stars.

He grinned wickedly.

“I don’t think you understand how great the price truly is. I don’t want your body, Wooyoung,” he fisted his hand tightly in Wooyoung’s shirt, pushing him backward over the edge of the chasm. The hand of the demon was the only thing keeping him from falling.

Wooyoung could hear the waves so far beneath him, but his eyes were glued to the creature before him.

“I want your _soul_.”

The hand released,

and Wooyoung fell.

Down, down, down, into the abyss, until he was swallowed by the darkness.

Icy water rushed into his lungs, cutting off his breath, and pulling him under, into the frigid void of the sea.

-

Wooyoung woke with a start.

It wasn’t the dream that woke him, not entirely.

Rather it was the unnerving sensation of a body on top of his, suffocating him.

Icy fingers flowed like seawater along his chest and sides, and a mouth was on his, drinking his breath from his lungs with every lap of tongue.

San’s weight pressed against his, holding him to the hospital bed.

The room was dark, Wooyoung couldn’t tell how long he’d been there. Yeosang’s bed across the room was empty and neatly made, untouched. He hadn’t yet been there.

Wooyoung was alone

A moan rumbled low in San’s throat as his tongue ran greedily at the seam of Wooyoung’s lips. His frigid hands wandered like ice across Wooyoung’s body, raising goosebumps in their wake wherever they trailed.

He tried to raise a hand to push the apparition back, but something was horribly wrong.

Wooyoung couldn’t move.

He was completely and utterly paralyzed beneath the demon, unable to shove him away despite his every desire to.

When the demon broke away for air, Wooyoung turned his face away.

“What are you doing?” He choked out, “Why are you here?”

He could hear San’s smirk in his voice as the creature continued to knead at his body with icy fingers,

“I think you know exactly why I’m here, Wooyoung.”

San peppered kisses along his torso like snowflakes.

“I _need_ you, baby,” he breathed into the dip of Wooyoung’s neck.

Shivers coursed through his body at the breath on his bare skin, despite how much he tried to stop them.

“It’s still daylight… you’ll get caught,” he bit back a moan, “Why are you doing this?”

A tongue glided across his skin from Wooyoung’s shoulder down to the waistband of his sweatpants, before a hand slipped inside.

The smirk was still audible, “I think you know exactly why.”

Again, Wooyoung tried to struggle, but it was useless. It was as though his limbs were completely numb and unresponsive to his commands. His arms lay limply beside him, useless and unfeeling.

As San had his way with his body, all Wooyoung could do was close his eyes, and pray that it would end soon.

Then the door burst open and light filled the room.

San vanished instantly in the flood of light.

“I’m so sorry, Woo.” he looked up to find Yeosang’s tiny face in his vision, tears welling up in the honey brown eyes.

“I – I told them… I had to; I had no choice… I’m sorry… I-I’m so sorry…” he fisted his fingers into Wooyoung’s shirt, burying himself against Wooyoung’s chest.

“I didn’t mean to, I promise. I didn’t mean to do it. T – there was no one else I could tell… I had to do _something_ …”

Discovering that his hands could move again, Wooyoung wiped at his eyes, head still spinning from his dreams and from San’s presence.

“Hey, hold on… what did you do, Yeosang? What’s wrong?”

It was then that he noticed the nurses standing behind Yeosang. Seonghwa was watching emotionlessly from the doorway.

“I had to tell them, Woo…” Yeosang mumbled into his shirt, “I saw him… on top of you.”

Two tragic eyes looked up into his own.

“I saw him again.”

Wooyoung’s eyes flew up to meet Seonghwa’s. The nurse hung his head sadly, before turning and leaving the room.

“Don’t let them take me away, Woo…” the boy sobbed into his chest, “don’t let them take me away… please… I’ll do anything… d-don’t let them take me away from you.

Nurses were flooding in and out of the room. Voices were speaking in muffled tones, and the bits and pieces that Wooyoung managed to catch, were bleak.

The traffic flowing in and out of the room calmed for a moment, and Wooyoung started when he noticed a new figure peering into the room.

San stood in the doorway, where Seonghwa had been only moments before.

Expressionless, apart from a cold smile that never met his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhhhhh snap
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone still reading this fic! I hope you all are doing well and I'll see you next week!!
> 
> xo Versace


	13. Damned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in uploading this chapter!! I really hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> *****Warning*****  
>  Suicide attempt briefly described towards end of chapter. If that bothers you in any way feel free to stop reading at the break after “I’m so sorry.”
> 
> xo Versace

_“- Wooyoung?”_

Wooyoung’s head snapped up. He blinked his fuzzy eyes back into focus until he noticed Dr. Kim sitting before him.

The doctor’s thick, round glasses were perched at the tip of his nose as they tended to. His hands were clasped before him, index fingers propped like a steeple above the rest.

From where he was perched behind the solid wooden desk, Dr. Kim watched Wooyoung with his usual mask of clinical scrutiny.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Dr. Kim adjusted his glasses briefly before again clasping his hands on the desk in front of him.

“You seem distracted, Wooyoung,” the doctor’s gravelly voice rumbled in the quiet room, “Is there something on your mind?”

Wooyoung snorted humorlessly.

Everything was on his mind. It’d been weeks since he’d last seen Yeosang.

Weeks since San appeared in the blue room during group therapy.

Weeks since the demon had appeared to a room full of patients and nurses as a human.

Weeks since Seonghwa had walked Wooyoung back to his room as his carefully constructed walls came crumbling down in the presence of the first person willing to stand beside him and pick up the pieces.

Weeks since he had finally believed that he might actually have a chance, that the being that haunted his existence for most of his life wasn’t in his head after all.

It had been weeks since that fateful night in his unit.

Weeks since Yeosang had been ripped from his side by nurses under the doctor’s strict orders. Weeks since he watched as Yeosang’s bags were packed before his eyes and the sobbing shell of a boy was escorted away down the halls and to another room.

Weeks since he heard the boy’s voice. Weeks since he held his warm little body in his arms. Weeks since he’d murmured “good night” to the bed across the room and received a gentle response. Weeks since he’d kissed Yeosang, softly and slow before parting ways before bed. Weeks since he’d heard his laugh. Weeks since he’d seen the boy smile.

It had been weeks since he’d seen the sun shine.

Seonghwa watched him from the corner carefully, his files placed in his lap.

“I miss him.”

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was the steady tick of the office clock, before the doctor spoke.

“I truly am sorry this had to happen, Wooyoung. You must realize that I would not have ordered this if I had any alternative. Yeosang is in too delicate a mental state to properly process your additional trauma on top of his own, so separation was vital. This won’t be permanent, I can assure you, that won’t be necessary. However, as long as he continues to believe in your delusions, the separation must remain in effect.” Dr. Kim leaned forwards on the desk and softened his voice, “I had no other choice. This is for Yeosang’s wellbeing; you must understand this.”

Was it?

Was Yeosang better off without him there?

Despite how much he wanted to disagree, he was plagued by the realization that Yeosang truly might be better off without him.

It wasn’t in the sense that Dr. Kim thought was helping, of course. Yeosang wasn’t seeing things. He wasn’t delusional.

San was human – or rather: _real_ – and they both knew it. Wooyoung wasn’t delusional in the first place, and he most certainly wasn’t pushing any sort of delusion on the boy.

Folie a deux be damned, Yeosang was one of the sanest people in Gonjiam.

However, Yeosang’s sanity didn’t make him any less vulnerable to the forces in Wooyoung’s life, or one force in particular.

Wooyoung knew San’s jealous nature as well as he knew his own. He’d been subject to his wrath far too many times. He knew the demon’s fury, only second to the demon’s _power_. San was deadly, dangerous, and untamed. Dancing across the metaphorical tightrope with the demon was like playing recklessly with matches in a room full of gasoline. One wrong move, one faulty step, one mistakenly lit fuse, and everything Wooyoung surrounded himself with could be engulfed in the raging flames in but a moment.

As long as Yeosang held a place in Wooyoung’s heart that the demon, in turn, could not occupy, he was terrifyingly vulnerable.

San didn’t compromise. He didn’t share. He wasn’t willing to meet halfway.

He wanted Wooyoung in his entirety, all or nothing.

The demon wanted Wooyoung’s entire heart, his entire soul, and his entire being. Any part of Yeosang that lingered there was susceptible to be taken away by the creature and destroyed.

As long as Yeosang blocked the way to Wooyoung’s heart, he was a target.

The demon would not hold back. He would not be stopped. Wooyoung was helpless in his attempts to keep him out.

The most painful realization was that Yeosang’s well being was, in fact, affected by Wooyoung’s presence in his life. But, unfortunately, the stakes were actually far, far greater than Dr. Kim could ever understand them to be.

Yeosang’s mental health was not what was at stake.

It was so much more.

Indeed, the most painful truth was that he couldn’t even blame the doctor for separating them. This wasn’t his fault.

It was Yeosang’s fault for loving him.

And it was Wooyoung’s fault for being far too reckless

And loving him back.

-

All at once, it was late-August, and the once harsh sunlight of summer had grown softer at the edges. The skies were clear and cloudless, and the wind, though warm, held a sharp promise of the winter which was sure to come. Birds still sang proudly from the treetops with the blissful ignorance of abstract human concepts such as time that only creatures can afford.

Wooyoung lay, as he often did, with his head resting back on folded arms, the soft emerald grass a comforting pillow for his body. His eyes were closed and relaxed in the warmth of the golden sun as he lay, the image of blissful meditation. Prayer, if you will.

Though alone, he wasn’t lonely. Not now, at least.

It had taken time to get to this point. To say it was easy would be a terrible lie. Week after week, he would wake from the laze of warm summer Wednesday afternoons and turn his head to the golden boy beside him, to watch the sunlight glimmer across the gentle slope of his cheeks and forehead, or to catch a glimpse of chocolate eyes that always seemed to shine a little brighter in the safety of the gardens.

Week after week, the realization cut like a knife into his stomach when the grass beside him was bare, and the spot that had always been reserved for Yeosang was empty.

No more.

No longer did he own the space Yeosang occupied. No longer did he have the right.

He wasn’t quite sure then if the sun truly shone a little less bright,

But it surely felt that way.

Still, as he lay in the warmth of Gonjiam’s gardens, he couldn’t help but listen for that certain tinkling laugh that used to echo beside him like silver bells. He hadn’t heard that sound in a while. He wondered if anyone in Gonjiam had.

Then, a shadow, like a cloud, blocked the sunlight from his face. Wooyoung opened his eyes.

San stood above him, the light behind him silhouetting his features, shining out from around his face like a halo.

Wooyoung sat up.

“What do you want?”

The demon smiled, “Can I join you?”

Wooyoung shrugged, but made no move to leave, so San collapsed onto the grass beside him. The space that was once reserved for Yeosang, replaced so easily by the very apparition who had managed to take hold of every other part of his life.

How fitting.

The pair sat in silence for a while. Wooyoung watched as San observed with his catlike gaze the perimeter of the gardens. Eventually, his gaze flicked back to meet Wooyoung’s. He studied Wooyoung thoughtfully before leaning back onto his elbows and smirking up at him.

“You have a question. What is it?”

Wooyoung crossed his legs and plucked at the grass in front of him. San wasn’t wrong, but there was far more than one question on his mind.

“Why are you here?”

The demon cocked his head.

“I’ve asked you this before, but you keep avoiding the question. Why are you here, San? Why are you suddenly real?”

“Oh Wooyoung,” the demon chuckled, head falling back onto the grass, “I was always real. You were just never willing to admit it.”

“What changed?”

San’s eyes flicked up from where he lay beside him.

“You did.”

“Me?”

“Of course.” He stated matter-of-factly.

“How did I change?”

For a prolonged moment, San was quiet, eyes fixed on the sky above. Wooyoung thought he was about to evade the question altogether when he murmured,

“You used to want me.”

Wooyoung’s response was immediate: “Never.”

San laughed,

“Denial is such a human trait. The truth may sit before one’s very eyes, living and breathing and undeniable, and they’ll still ask for more evidence. Such is the folly of man.”

Wooyoung frowned but didn’t try to counter the demon’s remarks.

“Of course, you never truly realized that you wanted me,” San rolled over onto one elbow, facing Wooyoung, “but deep down inside, some subconscious part of you clung to me vehemently. You despised yourself for feeling anything towards me but contempt, and yet, you never could stop yourself from craving me all the same.”

San smiled; an easy softness juxtaposed by the sharpness of his words.

“It’s natural for mortals such as yourself. You all are addicted to self-destruction, to the very habits that slowly kill you. Smoking, drinking, drugs, sex… the poison varies from one to the next, but despite their different labels, they are all still poisons. In proper doses they can be almost medicinal, but when they become the only way of coping with one’s daily existence… they are lethal.”

San’s unwavering gaze locked onto Wooyoung’s, and he sat up.

“I was your poison, baby. You clung to me like a lifeline, something that was always there to make you _feel_ something, _anything_ … just to remind you that you still could.”

A hand slipped onto Wooyoung’s knee; fingers cool through the fabric of his sweatpants. The demon studied Wooyoung’s lips with a reverent intensity.

“You tried to keep some sort of moral superiority by at least pretending you were disgusted, but deep down inside, you _reveled_ in it. You were not held captive by any physical crutch, but by the sense of secrecy, the taboo, the _danger_. You thought you were pushing me away when you were really pulling me ever closer.”

When had San’s face drifted this close?

Wooyoung felt like a mouse, completely entranced by the hypnotic cobra. He felt just as threatened.

San’s words grew quieter at the proximity.

“Face it, baby, you’ve always wanted me.”

Somehow the demon drew even closer yet. His final words were little more than a whisper against Wooyoung’s lips.

“You’ve just never allowed yourself to.”

And then, all at once, they were kissing.

In the calm of the gardens, as the wind whispered promises of winter’s oncoming chill, Wooyoung found himself kissing San back, with all the urgency of someone who did not detest what they were doing.

Kissing San was so easy, in the worst kind of way.

It was so familiar, so comfortable. He knew what to do, where to go, how to move, to draw soft gasps from the creature. He knew how to respond when icy fingers threaded themselves through his hair and pulled gently. It was so natural, so easy.

So why was it now the hardest thing Wooyoung ever had to do?

And then, as though in response, Wooyoung felt the unnerving sensation that he was being watched. He pulled away, breaking the kiss.

As he tore his eyes away from the panting and now dishevelled demon, he looked up into the tragic face of Yeosang, a boy whose heart was so fragile already and had to be handled with so much care. Wooyoung watched as the boy’s heart finally broke, finally snapped in two, in the image of a glimmering tear slipping down his golden cheek.

He was standing across the lawn from them, near the entrance to the garden. It was obvious that he had seen, there was no other way.

Also apparent, was the shadow that had fallen over San’s face, the unmistakable look of pure jealousy and unbridled fury aimed directly at the small boy.

Wooyoung suddenly found himself in the most horrible place to be. He was caught between the thick stone walls of duty and love. Two equal forces, both necessary and powerful. Both unmoving.

In front of his eyes, the heart of the boy he loved more than anything else was breaking, but beside him, hell itself was set to destroy anything that dared to claim a place in Wooyoung’s heart. He loved Yeosang, and to love him meant to protect him.

No matter the cost.

And so, with the numbness in his stomach that he knew far too well by now, Wooyoung cupped the demon’s face in his hands, turned the creature’s black eyes away from the boy too innocent for the pain Wooyoung was about to inflict on him, and kissed San.

His reasoning was simple. The longer Yeosang clung to the hope that Wooyoung could ever love him, the more danger the boy was in. The longer Wooyoung placed the boy on any sort of pedestal in his heart, the more danger he put the boy in. As long as San was in his life, Wooyoung couldn’t allow himself to let anyone else in.

Finally, he thought he understood. No one else could cure him. San wouldn’t allow that. It only took the demon’s physical manifestation as a patient in the very hospital Wooyoung had run to in a vain attempt to be cured of him.

San had simply followed him there and made himself as blatantly unignorable as he could, in order to teach Wooyoung that he couldn’t just sweep the demon out of his mind. Ignoring him and pushing him to the back of his mind could never fully eliminate him.

The only way to rid San from his life was to run _to_ him. To stand face to face with hell itself and confront his demon. And this he could only do _alone_.

What cruel irony, he thought.

There he was, kissing the creature he despised more than any other, while simultaneously and intentionally shattering the heart of the boy he loved more than anything.

This, truly, was the price he must pay. From this point onward, San could never dream of dragging Wooyoung down to hell with him.

For Wooyoung was already there. And he had brought himself to that point.

This was his newest low, the true rock bottom. If that night in the showers when he allowed San to defile him only moments after professing his love to Yeosang was the ocean depths, Wooyoung had now found himself at the floor of Marianas Trench.

No sunlight could ever hope to reach him here.

He was irredeemable.

He was damned.

At last he understood the full price. And he payed it.

When he finally pulled away, shaking and gasping for breath, Yeosang was gone. With that same bitter numbness, he watched the space the boy had stood just moments before.

He felt strangely calm, the sort of peace that one feels after an event of deep tragedy. He wasn’t sure if his own soul could ever be redeemed, but it was worth the price of hurting Yeosang if the boy’s soul would be spared from joining his hellish fate.

_I’m sorry._

His heart whispered into the still summer air.

The demon’s fingers found their way back to his chin, pulling him back in for more. Tears finally broke free, slipping silently down Wooyoung’s face as he let the creature kiss him.

Perdition felt a lot like heartbreak.

_I’m so sorry._

-

_“Wooyoung, please, let me in.”_

His mother’s voice broke as she sobbed.

Wooyoung was sitting on the floor of his bedroom, back slumped against the heavy door. The room was silent apart from the muffled sobs of his mother seeping through the wood.

Apart from the small glimpse of late afternoon light peeking through the crack of his curtains, the room was dark. The world was still.

A knife glinted in Wooyoung’s hand.

It hovered precariously over his wrist, paler and thinner now than before. The dark blue veins webbed across his skin, a deep contrast to the flesh surrounding them. Such an easy target.

Surely, he wouldn’t miss.

 _“Wooyoung, please,”_ a fist thumped weakly against his door, _“Stop pushing me away. I can help you. Just open the door, let me in,”_ another pitiful thump. She was so weak, so frail.

How much pain had Wooyoung caused her? He was such a terrible son.

Such a terrible son.

The blunt edge of the knife brushed against his skin. It was cool to the touch.

It would be so easy.

_“Please, darling. Please let me in. Don’t lock me out. It will be alright.”_

More muffled sobs.

Wooyoung’s eyes flicked up to the demon standing beside him.

San was watching him with an unreadable expression. His hair covered his eyes, and with them, any of the emotion carried there.

He was standing as still as a shadow. It was moments like this that Wooyoung could almost believe that he was making him up. He could almost pretend that he was nothing more than a shadow.

It was moments like this that made Wooyoung lift the knife away from his wrist. Moments like this managed to crack the façade of absolute certainty that Wooyoung had built around himself. The only certainty he allowed himself being the certainty that the world would be a better place without San in it, and that the only way to rid the world from San, as far as he knew, was to rid the world of the boy who invented him.

But moments like this caused this certainty to crumble.

As the knife fell from his fingertips, San finally stirred.

The demon approached Wooyoung where he lay, slumped against his bedroom door, on the verge of tears but never quite willing to succumb.

“At last, I think you’re beginning to understand, Wooyoung,” he smiled down at him with his ever-easy grin,

“Killing yourself may rid the world of one of its problems,”

His smile widened.

“But you won’t take me with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my loves! I have returned from the dead!  
> A few notes:  
> 1) I am DYING to know what you all think of the latest progressions of the fic and the turns that it's taken!!
> 
> 2) I had an absolutely HECTIC week with a healthy dose of writer's block on top, hence the late upload. BUT, I hit a fresh wave of motivation and am absolutely thrilled with how this chapter turned out!! 
> 
> 3) I've received tons of questions in my dms and comments, so I've made a curious cat account in an effort to be able to answer them more efficiently!! I'd love if you sent me a message!! 💛 @thx_its_versace
> 
> 4) You can also find me on twitter: @thx_its_versace and tumblr: @thanks-its-versace
> 
> Have a wonderful week, take care, and see you soon!! 
> 
> xo Versace


	14. The visions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW this took a long time to write. Sorry for the wait! Enjoy!!
> 
> xo Versace

The room was still and silent. It always was, now, at least.  
  
Wooyoung lay on top of the hospital cot, legs and arms splayed out around him, bare skin itchy where it touched the old wool blankets. The window above his head was propped open a sliver, and a light breeze occasionally brushed the curtain away from the glass.  
  
The lights were turned off, but the midday sun managed to softly illuminate the contents of the room, little more than a steady glow and a comforting presence. From the ceiling, the fan clicked rhythmically as it lazily spun, swaying lightly from side to side with the movement.  
  
The faint hum of summer and distant traffic echoed through the open window, but that was the extent of the noise in this room. It was more a mausoleum than a bedroom now, the silence reverent and respectful.  
  
These four walls and metal bedframes had become haunted, by the bodiless ghost of the boy who shouldn’t have been taken away, and by the spiritless shell of the boy who shouldn’t have stayed.  
  
Wooyoung turned over, burying his face in the pillow. Breathing in deeply, he tried to chase after that familiar scent, the smell of laundry detergent and baby powder and something warm and entirely Yeosang. He searched the sheets for any remnant of the boy he could find, any proof that he ever was there.  
  
He was met with the harsh scent of bleach and the bitter ache of loneliness.  
  
And Yeosang’s ghost faded yet a little bit more from the room.  
  
He still saw the boy from time to time, but it was incredibly rare. Yeosang hardly left his new unit anymore.  
  
Despite both Wooyoung’s inability to speak with him and his need to keep the boy from loving him, he couldn’t stop himself from caring for Yeosang. He tried desperately to cut him off, to pretend he was just a figment of his imagination, to push him away, out of sight, out of mind, he never could.  
  
Yeosang had so deeply penetrated both Wooyoung’s life and his heart, and twisted himself up so tightly in his veins, that it was impossible for Wooyoung to cut him out, without losing part of himself too. Yeosang was the thread used to stitch up so many holes in Wooyoung’s heart. Now when he tried to cut any trace of Yeosang from his life, he tore the gaping wounds back open with a newfound vengeance, the scars unable to heal.  
  
So Wooyoung coped by doting on the boy from a distance.  
  
He regularly checked up on him through Seonghwa, the nurse being his greatest ally and making regular reports. Unfortunately, his news was rarely good.  
  
Yeosang wasn’t eating. He was hardly drinking. He never slept through the night, and he never left his bed all day. The boy who loved the sunshine so vehemently, now kept his curtains permanently closed.  
  
At first, he refused to attend activities, meals, games, and even therapy sessions. However, after much persuasion by Seonghwa, he had begun to slowly show his face, though to say he actually participated in any of the above would be a drastic stretch.  
  
And he refused to speak a word to anyone now, apart from Seonghwa.  
  
This bit of information cut the deepest. Yeosang, he knew, used silence to cope with betrayal. He used silence to cope with being alone. When Yeosang cut off ties with the rest of the world, he was retreating deep within himself, into a mental fortress of safety that he’d built up over a lifetime of toxic relationships.  
  
Ever since Wooyoung had managed to gain the boy’s trust, he’d been verbal. He didn’t need to retreat to his mental stronghold for protection, because he found that in Wooyoung.  
  
Until now.  
  
Now, his little, fragile heart was grieving, and he was alone.  
  
And it was entirely Wooyoung’s doing.  
  
  
“You’re doing the right thing, you know.”  
  
Wooyoung opened his eyes to find San leaning against the windowsill, hidden in the shadows of the curtain.  
  
Wooyoung scoffed, “What do you know about doing the right thing?”  
  
The demon looked thoughtful for a minute.  
  
“I know enough. I know that there’s not enough room in your heart for both of us. I know the lengths he’s willing to go for you, to help you,” he stepped forwards, away from the windowsill, “I know how much he _loves_ you,” San silently approached the bed with catlike steps, “And I know that if you keep making room for him - if your heart keeps clinging to him the way it has for so long…” when San looked up at him through the wild black hair spilling over his forehead, his eyes were black. He scowled,  
  
“I will cut him out myself. And I will make it hurt.”  
  
He smirked.  
  
“That’s a promise.”  
  
  
-  
  
  
It started on a Thursday afternoon.  
  
Wooyoung was in the common room, casually flicking through his book of poems. Somehow, despite how often he flipped through those pages and mouthed along to the pretty lines of prose, he still didn’t have them memorized. Most likely, this was due to how often he allowed his mind to wander.  
  
The repetitive lines, the familiarity, and the memories attached to the worn pages acted as a doorway into the life he lived before Gonjiam, before San.  
  
When he read through the poems, he could so vividly remember the humid summer evenings spent listening to his mother read from these pages aloud, by the light of the porch lamp, as fireflies danced in the air around them. He could remember the winter afternoons curled up beside her on the worn sofa in front of the window, watching the snowflakes silently paint the world white. He could remember the warmth of her presence and the timbre of her voice as her lips traced out the letters and lines as though they were woven out of music rather than words.  
  
Whenever he closed the cover on the book, the memories vanished with the lines of poetry, and he was left with the vague feeling of homesickness for a place that no longer felt like home.  
  
Indeed, Wooyoung was slowly beginning to realize, that home was never a particular location, but rather a feeling of belonging created by the people there. And even more slowly, he was beginning to understand how homeless he truly was.  
  
It was then that the lights in the common room flickered.  
  
At Mingi’s loud complaints from across the room, Wooyoung looked up, allowing his book to slip from his fingers to the worn cushion of the sofa beside him.  
  
The TV mounted to the common room wall was somehow turning on and off, in time with the flickering ceiling lights. Mingi was mashing all the buttons on the remote, eventually hammering the entire device against the arm of his chair when it proved unresponsive. He looked up at Wooyoung with a puzzled tilt of his head.  
  
Wooyoung swallowed down the unease that immediately flared within him, instead telling himself it was probably just a problem with the power. Pushing himself up from the couch, he cautiously padded across the room in socked feet to help.  
  
No sooner had he had stepped in front of the screen than it began rapidly switching through the channels. Wooyoung tried the power button on the top corner of the thin screen, but it did nothing. He tried again, with the same result. One by one, he attempted each of the buttons, but every single one was unresponsive.  
  
Equal parts frustration and panic were rising inside him, as Wooyoung tried the power button again, but it just continued frantically changing channels. On top of that, the volume was somehow being turned up louder and louder without their doing. Faster and faster, the channels began to fly by, images blurring together. The volume continued to rise, an awful, high-pitched screeching noise like static growing louder and louder until it was drowning out any other sound in the room.  
  
In a last-ditch effort, Wooyoung yanked the power cable free from the outlet.  
  
The TV didn’t turn off. Wooyoung watched in horror as the channels began switching even more aggressively in front of him, the television power cable hanging limply from his hand.  
  
The channels flashed by, faster and faster, increasing in speed and volume until, finally, it stopped. An image glowed eerily back at him shooting ice-cold needles down Wooyoung’s spine.  
  
His knees gave way beneath him, and he collapsed backward onto the floor, eyes unable to leave the horrific sight in front of him. Backward, he scurried on his hands, eyes still fixed ahead, until his back hit the foot of an armchair. His heartbeat thumped in his ears, but he just couldn’t bring himself to look away from the screen.  
  
San’s distorted face was smiling back at him.  
  
It was San, but so much worse. His smile split his entire face across in half with rows upon rows of needle-sharp teeth. His eyes were recessed back in his head and glistened pure black, and his hair curled wildly around his face like the serpentine locks of Medusa.  
  
Despite the screen separating them, Wooyoung’s breath caught in his throat as the image locked eyes with him, as though it could see right into his very soul.  
  
_“H..i……baby……”_ the creature mumbled through the static, head jerking side to side in horrible motions. His voice was unnatural and warped yet eerily clear, almost as though it were spoken from someone inside the room rather than the speakers of the TV.  
  
_“Think…ing…. Of…... me….?”_  
  
Then the lights of the room flickered off, and with them, the screen went black.  
  
When they flickered back on, the TV remained black. Silence engulfed the room, its presence seeming almost physical after the constant noise from just a moment prior. Everything in the common room was still, the few other patients present, slowly resuming their regular activities or returning to their puzzles and books.  
  
Wooyoung blinked up at the black screen from where he lay, stunned to silence on the floor still. Eventually, he noticed Mingi watching him with a confused expression. Stepping closer, he carefully extracted the power cord from Wooyoung’s hand, studying it briefly before jamming it back into the outlet. With a single flick of the power button, the TV sprang to life.  
  
Wooyoung flinched, arms reflexively blocking his face, but he was greeted by the gentle sound of the nature documentary Mingi had been watching prior.  
  
“You good?”  
  
Arms falling from his face, Wooyoung blinked up at Mingi, who was still watching him in confusion.  
  
“Am I _good_?” Wooyoung asked incredulously.  
  
Mingi glanced around as though looking for the correct answer, and his hands nervously played with the long sleeves of his sweater.  
  
“Why are you being all jumpy and stuff?”  
  
The image of San and his horrifically distorted face flashed through his mind again, but he quickly pushed it away.  
  
“What do you mean? Didn’t you see what just happened? Didn’t you see _him?_ ” Wooyoung’s voice unintentionally raised towards the end, but he restrained himself when he noticed Mingi flinch back at the sudden aggression.  
  
“Didn’t see _who_ , Wooyoung?” his voice was softer than Wooyoung had ever heard it before, and laced with uncertainty,  
  
“No one was there.”  
  
His heartbeat thundered behind his ears. Wooyoung’s mouth felt uncomfortably dry as he watched the screen, so different now from only moments ago.  
  
“On the screen…. He was there….” his voice was hoarse and his mind was swimming with confusion.  
  
  
“ _Who_ was there?”  
  
  
Wooyoung jumped at the sudden voice coming from behind him. He looked up to find Seonghwa standing over him, a concerned crease in his brow.  
  
“What are you talking about, Woo? What did you see?”  
  
Wooyoung opened his mouth to answer but couldn’t seem to find the words as he met another pair of glistening black eyes over the nurse’s shoulder.  
  
San was leaning against the doorway to the common room, a wicked grin tugging at his features.  
  
Ever so slowly, the demon brought a single finger up to his mouth and pressed it gently against his mouth in a _hush_ , the horrible smirk never leaving his face. The next moment, he was gone. The door into the hallway was empty and San was nowhere to be seen.  
  
  
“Nothing.” Wooyoung mumbled numbly,  
  
  
“I didn’t see anything.”  
  
  
-  
  
  
From then on, it only got worse.  
  
First it was subtle, movement in the corner of his eye, doors closing without anyone pushing them, and lights flickering. Then he began to hear voices at night, coming from places they shouldn’t, such as from just outside his window and from the empty corner of his bedroom.  
  
Wooyoung would pass empty hallways at night and catch a single silhouette of a person standing at the end. He would freeze, head snapping back to look again, but every time, he was met with the faint buzzing of the LED lights and an eerily empty hallway.  
  
It happened daily – the lights flickering, sink faucets randomly turning on whenever Wooyoung entered a room, books falling randomly from bookshelves, shadows walking by in the corners of his vision, and the voices at night that were so distinct yet always just a little _too_ unclear to decipher. Day by day the occurrences grew, both in frequency and magnitude. And yet, Wooyoung, it seemed, was the only person in Gonjiam aware of any of it.  
  
Apart from San.  
  
As frequently as the creature presented himself to Wooyoung back while he was in solitary, he began appearing increasingly more so as a regular patient. Inch by inch, he wormed himself into Wooyoung’s life, so slowly he hardly noticed at first, until he was completely engulfed by the boy’s presence.  
  
First, it was the seat across from him at dinner. Then, the couch beside him at night. Soon enough, Wooyoung couldn’t ever find himself in any of the rooms of Gonjiam without the boy being somewhere in the room as well. He never even had to search him out. He was simply _there_. Their eyes meeting as effortlessly as finding your own reflection in a mirror.  
  
And perhaps that’s what San was.  
  
A mirror. A reflection of Wooyoung’s soul. He was by no means his true form, but nevertheless not quite a replica. San could not exist without Wooyoung, and yet he could never fully become Wooyoung. From across the room, their eyes would meet, two sides of the same coin, two beings connected by some invisible thread, unable to fully reach each other. Intrinsically connected and yet separated by invisible glass.  
  
San did not fully exist in this plane of reality, and yet he could not fully exist apart from it. He was a warped picture of Wooyoung, directly opposite from him in every way, and yet… perhaps even still the most accurate likeness of him.  
  
  
San had attached himself to Wooyoung as intimately as his own reflection, and within a matter of weeks, Wooyoung found himself living in a house of mirrors.  
  
  
-  
  
  
It was dark out. The world around him lay in sleepy silence. By his head, the curtain silently swayed away from the window at the gentle nudge of the late-summer breeze.  
  
Wooyoung wasn’t sure at first what woke him. Blinking away the sleep from his eyes, he propped himself upright on his creaking metal cot.  
  
Then, he heard it.  
  
A gentle rap on his door.  
  
It was a simple knock, two little beats in quick succession, so faint he almost thought he had imagined it. His gut twisted nervously. By now, he knew far better than to assume that there was any distinction between imagination and reality.  
  
So, he slid his feet into the slippers by his bed, and quickly pulled on an oversized hoodie from the heap of clothing on his floor, before tiptoeing silently over to the heavy door of his room.  
  
Pressing his ear to the cool metal, he listened.  
  
He was met with nothing but silence and the subtle groans of the settling hospital building.  
  
Cautiously, he twisted the stiff doorknob, moving ever so slowly in order to minimize the creaking of the unoiled hinges. When the door was opened just enough for him to poke his head through, he looked out, warily eyeing the empty hallway.  
  
_Wooyoung_.  
  
His head jolted to the right, peering up the empty corridor to where he could faintly make out the form of a person standing in the shadows towards the very end where it intersected with the next hallway. The figure raised a single finger, head lolling to the side like a doll, and gave a brief gesture that undoubtedly said _follow me_.  
  
Then it turned and walked down the adjacent hallway, disappearing from sight.  
  
Pushing away the unease gnawing at his stomach, Wooyoung slipped through the gap in the door and guided it shut behind him, clicking it softly in place. Then, casting a wary glance behind him to check that his coast was clear, he crept down the corridor after the shadow.  
  
As he rounded the corner beyond which the person had vanished, he cautiously peered ahead. At the very end of this hallway, the same shadowy figure stood, as though waiting for him. The moment he stepped into the new hallway, the silhouette again took off, this time veering to the right.  
  
And so Wooyoung wandered the unlit halls of Gonjiam, following nothing more than a shadow. He didn’t even know what compelled him to chase the creature. Perhaps this was him confronting San, no longer trying to run from him or push him away. Perhaps this was Wooyoung finally seeking him out, finally facing his problems head-on.  
  
Around the corners, and down the cold tile floors he followed San, until none of the blank doors that he passed were familiar to him anymore. Finally, the shadow stopped in the middle of the vacant hall and stood, defiantly locking on to Wooyoung’s gaze.  
  
The creature stepped up to an unmarked door that had initially gone unnoticed by Wooyoung and gripped the handle. With one last backward glance, it swung open the door and disappeared inside, the door softly swinging shut behind him with a muted _click_.  
  
Wooyoung peered down the hallway in both directions, listening carefully for the sound of any hospital staff that may be wandering the halls. When he was met with nothing but nocturnal stillness, he crept up to the door.  
  
The door was plain apart from a metal knob, similar to that of his own bedroom. Gingerly raising a hand to the cool knob, he tried turning it.  
  
It was unlocked.  
  
The blood was coursing in Wooyoung’s ears as he fully turned the doorknob and pushed it open. When there was a sliver big enough for him to fit through, he peered inside.  
  
It was, in fact, a bedroom. However, what caught Wooyoung off guard was exactly _whose_ bedroom the figure had led him to.  
  
There, illuminated by the soft light of the open window above him, Yeosang lay sound asleep on a small cot. He looked so small, smaller now than Wooyoung had ever seen him. Bones protruded from his face where his skin used to be round and smooth. He was burrowed beneath the blankets, hair splayed out above him at odd angles against the pillow, and his lips were ever so slightly parted as he slept. The moonbeams filtering in through the windowpanes seemed to cause the boy to glow.  
  
He was both ethereal and breathtaking.  
  
Wooyoung realized in that moment how vain he was for ever thinking there could be a day in his life that he would stop loving Yeosang so desperately. The painful clutch in his chest at the sight of his sleeping boy was proof enough that Wooyoung had woven the boy far too deeply into his veins. To remove Yeosang from his heart now would be to cut the entire organ out altogether.  
  
But what use is a heart anyways if not to love?  
  
The boy stirred in his sleep and Wooyoung froze where he stood in the doorway until he again settled into his blankets and his dreams. Wooyoung relaxed at that, but it was enough to shake him from his reverie and remind him of why he was here in the first place.  
  
San.  
  
Why couldn’t he find him in the shadows of the room? Why did the creature wake him from his sleep in the first place and lead him here only to vanish upon arrival at the destination? Why did San, the one so vehemently opposed to Yeosang’s place in Wooyoung’s life, lead him to the boy’s own room?  
  
What business did the demon have coming here unless it was purely to show Wooyoung that he _could?_  
  
Perhaps he simply wanted to remind Wooyoung exactly how much control he still had over Wooyoung’s life. Perhaps he wanted to remind Wooyoung exactly what he was capable of.  
  
The sleeping image of Yeosang before him suddenly made Wooyoung feel sick. He stepped back from the doorway of the room and, catching one last glimpse of Yeosang, he carefully nudged the door closed and retreated his way back down the winding halls to his own room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit's getting s p o o k y in here. 
> 
> How are you guys feeling about the new and creepier San?? Ngl despite how much I want to hate him, I secretly adore him so much haha Is this wrong?
> 
> So sorry for the long wait for this chapter! A lot was happening in my life, so I had very little time to write T-T but I now have all the free time in the world, so hopefully the next chapter will be more on schedule! I'm aiming for next week Friday. 
> 
> Also, this fic is most likely going to be a little over 18 chapters after all. There's still a lot that needs to happen and be unpacked/ loose ends that need to be tied up, so I'm thinking there may be 19-20 instead. I won't be changing the chapter count just yet, bc this may change and it may all fit nicely in 18, but just giving you guys the heads up!
> 
> Thanks so much for all of the kudos and the incredible and thoughtful comments I've received lately!! ❤❤ I often forget to respond, but just know that I read every single comment and squeal ridiculously with happiness every time, so thank you thank you!! 
> 
> You guys/gals honestly inspire and motivate me to write so much! Just know that I adore every last one of you!! ❤❤
> 
> Take care, stay safe, and I'll see you next week!
> 
> xo Versace


	15. The confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW. I'm so sorry for the wait!!  
> I'm currently camping in the middle of a forest with my family, and, as you can imagine, Wifi is pretty hard to come by.  
> Nevertheless, this chapter is a beefy 1k longer than usual, so I hope that makes up for it TT TT
> 
> Also, a HUGE thank you to everyone still reading, everyone who's left a kudos, and everyone who's commented!! I may not always have time to respond to them all, but I really do appreciate them so much! You guys seriously motivate me so much!!  
> I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!
> 
> xo Versace

Wooyoung woke to a bone-chilling scream.

His blood ran cold. This didn’t happen often anymore. His mother had been doing better these days. She had been sleeping through the night.

He thought the nightmares had stopped by now.

Wooyoung threw his blankets off, leaping out of bed, and nearly tripping over clothes he’d left scattered across the floor the day prior. Bursting from his bedroom, he ran down the little hallway to the third door on the right. He jostled the old doorknob, cursing under his breath until it finally turned, and he finally flung the door open, not even registering the crash it made as it collided with the wall.

Shaking with adrenaline and gasping for breath, he searched the blackness of the room.

He froze before he could even step through the doorway.

Standing over his mother’s bed was a black figure, silhouetted by the light of the moon. A single, white hand was outstretched across her face, long, pale fingers covering her eyes as she thrashed about wildly.

She was still screaming, sobs occasionally breaking through. Her head remained pressed to the pillow by the force of the creature’s hand, and her mouth hung open wordlessly. Despite her writhing, she just couldn’t shake the hand from her eyes.

_“Mom…”_

Unconsciously, the word fell from his lips, and the creature’s head snapped towards him.

San grinned wickedly in the moonlight.

“What are you _doing_ to her??” Wooyoung shook off the shock and jolted back into motion. He threw himself at the apparition, shoving his hand from his mother’s eyes and causing him to stumble backward, away from her bed.

Without a backward glance, Wooyoung fell to the floor next to his mother and began to lightly shake her, gentle words of comfort falling from his lips. She only continued to scream, eyes screwed shut and limbs contorting aggressively. The longer she struggled against him, unresponsive to his pleas, the more his terror continued to build.

 _“Mom, PLEASE… wake up, Mom… It’s me…”_ Again, and again he shook her, hand cupping her wrinkled face, twisted up in agony, but the words never seemed to reach her.

 _“San, what did you DO to her??”_ He wheeled around at the creature. San had since perched himself on a dresser and was watching cross-legged with amusement glistening in his eyes.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you _dare_ try to pull that on me. What have you _done_?” In a matter of strides, Wooyoung was face to face with San, a hand fisted in the creature’s shirt and pulling him roughly from the cabinet.

Stone cold and unbothered, San cocked his head and smiled innocently.

“What more could I do to her than what you’ve already done?”

Just then, his mother let out a particularly violent sob. With a vicious glare, Wooyoung released San, shoving him away with the hand on his shirt, and returned to his mother’s side, carefully picking up one of her thrashing hands in his own. Shushing her softly, Wooyoung stroked her clammy face, pleading with her.

“ _Please,_ Mom. _Wake up._ It’s me… Wooyoung. I’m here… You’re safe.”

With one final, horrible spasm, she jolted upright. Her head snapped towards Wooyoung, her eyes suddenly wide open.

They were pure black, and as empty as the grave.

For a split second, those horrible eyes gazed into Wooyoung, before her face again contorted in horror, and that awful screaming resumed.

Desperation clawed at his stomach as Wooyoung tried again and again to wake her, to do _anything_ to make her see him. He reached a hand up to stroke her hair, but she flinched away at the movement, retreating from Wooyoung’s touch. Once more, he tried to clasp her hand, but before he could reach her, she wrenched it away, clutching the limb to her chest as though it were burned.

His mother moved, crawling backwards on the bed, away from Wooyoung, and pressed herself into the corner against the wall, putting as much distance between them as possible. Those horrible, empty eyes watched him, as though expecting him to pounce at any moment. She looked so small, so fragile, so helpless. Her thin shoulders shook.

“Mom, it’s _me,_ ” he whispered, mind swimming in confusion, “Wooyoung.”

Again, his mother sobbed.

“No.” She rasped, tears streaming from those awful eyes, “It can’t be him,” she shook with silent sobs, her hands wringing subconsciously at her chest, “It can’t be.”

Wooyoung’s heart dropped as the realization dawned on him.

She _could_ see him.

And she was afraid.

“San,” His eyes never left the crumpled form of his mother as sobs engulfed her completely, “What did you do to her?”

The demon’s voice came with a hand on his waist, but still, he didn’t look back.

“Maybe I just showed her who you really are… what you’re capable of.”

He swallowed roughly, “And what is it? That I’m capable of?”

He could hear the smirk in San’s voice as the words were breathed against the shell of his ear.

_Breaking her._

-

It seemed like all he was ever good for. Breaking things, that is.

Breaking trust, breaking rules, breaking promises, breaking hearts, breaking down, and breaking the bridges between him and those he loved.

Wooyoung was never very good at mending. He was even worse at preserving.

When it truly came down to it, he was too wild, too impulsive, too tempestuous, and emotional and unhinged to be careful. He never could tread lightly between shards of broken glass. Instead, he surged across it, listening to it shatter beneath his feet.

He had never learned to be delicate. From a young age, the world had already calloused him too deeply in mind and heart, that his top priority in life had quickly become to _survive_ by whatever means necessary.

People, he discovered, were capable of betrayal. The more of yourself you pour into their open palms, the less of you is left behind. Vulnerability is a weakness. Being honest, being open with others exposes fresh wounds and tender skin, so easily to be pierced with the smallest knife. And words can sometimes be the knife that cuts the deepest, can’t they?

The easiest way to protect yourself despite your vulnerabilities, is simply to ensure that no one ever finds them. To lock yourself away from the prying eyes of the world and to never allow them access to your soul. To find safety in isolation.

But in isolation, one never learns to become soft.

A lone wolf has none of the luxuries of a pack. When you spend your life fighting alone for survival, carrying on your shoulders a distrust for others as natural as the breath in your lungs, you never really learn how to view others as anything but the enemy. You never really believe they can be anything but.

Wooyoung was reckless, clumsy with emotion the way a child is clumsy with their newly growing limbs.

Wooyoung didn’t understand his emotions. He didn’t understand relationships.

He’d never had a friend since San appeared in his life. Truth be told, he never thought he needed one since. Any ties he had left uncut, San disintegrated. Any bridges left standing, San burned to the ground.

The way a city under siege slowly is bled of their resources until the final point of starvation, Wooyoung had found himself slowly bled of any other relationships until only one remained.

San.

The demon reveled in his sole attention. He preened in the spotlight of Wooyoung’s gaze. San was addicted to him in every way a person could be so desperately dependant on another, until Wooyoung felt that he was bled dry.

The demon simply took and took and took of him. His mind, his thoughts, his love, his heart, his words, his lips, his body, his choices – San drank it up like the blood from his veins until there was hardly a drop left to satiate his own body. San was a parasite that existed only to feed off Wooyoung and anything he had to offer.

It had taken far too long for Wooyoung to realize that San gave nothing in return.

There was no mutually beneficial exchange. There was no predetermined agreements or consent or decisions made on each part. All the while, Wooyoung was giving more and more of himself away to the creature, and in the end San always simply… left.

He showed up, took whatever he wanted of the boy, and left, with hardly a backward glance.

Wooyoung wondered if the demon simply had nothing to give. He also wondered if he just chose not to. He wondered how much of the creature’s lack of empathy was by choice, and how much was simply by nature.

Demons couldn’t love.

Isn’t that what Yeosang had said?

Did that mean he was incapable of emotion? Or was he incapable of devotion?

Did he feel towards Wooyoung the same unexplainable magnetic pull that knits human souls together? Was he incapable of giving his heart to another, or did he even have a heart to give away?

What was he truly capable of?

“You seem distracted.”

Wooyoung glanced up at Dr. Kim.

The doctor was seated in his usual pose, shoulders bent over the desk, his weight resting on his folded arms. In front of him, Wooyoung’s medical records lay open in a file, along with Dr. Kim’s expensive-looking leather-bound journal. He peered at Wooyoung through the thick frames of his spectacles.

“What’s got your attention this afternoon?”

Wooyoung shifted in the uncomfortable wooden chair and attempted to keep his eyes from wandering past the doctor to where San was seated just behind Dr. Kim’s desk on a filing cabinet. He pondered if telling the truth would be more or less helpful in this situation.

Ultimately, he shrugged, mumbling quickly, “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Oh?” The doctor scribbled something into his journal. Even his pen looked expensive. “Any reason in particular?”

He wasn’t lying. He didn’t sleep last night. Every time he closed his eyes, he was haunted by images of his screaming mother. Every time he woke, he found his eyes warily tracing the room for any signs that the demon had been there.

San had been everywhere lately. In his dreams. His waking hours. The common room. The dining room. He flitted through Wooyoung’s peripherals like clockwork, causing him to question how often he was visible to the other patients as well. He never knew whether or not to acknowledge the demon in public, because he had no way of knowing if he was in human form or not.

Wooyoung had come to the conclusion that San was, more often than not, appearing to Wooyoung alone, as nobody else in Gonjiam seemed to notice anything unusual about San.

Nobody else was aware.

He risked a glance up, over the doctor’s left shoulder, to where the demon sat, legs swinging lazily from his perch. San was examining his fingernails, obviously bored, but under the weight of Wooyoung’s gaze, he looked up.

As their eyes met, San smiled, genuine and warm. A stark contrast to the jealous rage he wore so frequently now. He shot Wooyoung a wink.

“No.” Wooyoung finally responded to the doctor’s hanging question. “No reason in particular.”

Dr. Kim’s eyes narrowed as he studied Wooyoung for a moment, pen hovering over the page. The office clock ticked slowly along before the doctor spoke:

“Have you been seeing him again?”

_Tick_

_Tick_

“The boy from your visions?”

In the corner of his vision, Wooyoung watched San tense.

_Tick_

_Tick_

“Yes.” He mumbled honestly.

“I see.” More scribbles in the leather journal. “Have you noticed any changes in frequency or content of your visions?”  
San’s presence in the room was suddenly suffocating.  
“Yes.”  
His mouth felt too dry.  
More scribbles. “What sort of changes?”  
Wooyoung couldn’t answer. His gaze was suddenly laser-focused on the demon across the room. San frowned.  
“Wooyoung?” Dr. Kim leaned forwards on his arms, “Your visions?”  
_Tick  
Tick  
Ti –_  
“What if they’re not?”  
Wooyoung’s heart was racing, eyes still transfixed on San. Beside him, he could see Seonghwa nervously reach for his arm.  
A shadow fell over San’s face like a curtain being drawn. The demon shook his head once sharply, jaw clenched tight.  
Tearing his gaze from the creature, Wooyoung leaned forwards in his seat. The doctor looked startled, and Wooyoung clasped his hands imploringly on the desk in front of him, face hot and head dizzy with thoughts.  
“I know this sounds crazy, Doctor. I _know_ it doesn’t make sense… But what if my delusion _isn’t_ in my head after all? What if it never has been?”

Dr. Kim straightened up in his chair, blinking confusedly at the sudden outburst.

“Wooyoung–?”

“What if it’s something else? What if it’s something that science can’t explain? I’ve been here for over a year, Doctor. All those meds, all that therapy, and supposedly one of the world’s finest fucking doctors – and look at me–” He frantically waved a hand at himself, “–Just as crazy as the very first time I walked down these halls. Hell, I might even be crazier.”

The doctor leaned forwards, pen flicking across the paper, yet his eyes fixed on Wooyoung.

“What if it’s _not_ in my head? What if it’s _not_ an imbalance of chemicals?”

San was no longer on the filing cabinet. The demon crept around the doctor’s heavy wooden desk like a leopard stalking his prey. Fury burned deep within his black eyes, locked unwaveringly on Wooyoung.

Once, twice, the lights in the office flickered. Beside him, Seonghwa cast a nervous glance around the room, but Wooyoung pushed his own fear aside, leaning further into the doctor’s space.

“What if it’s supernatural, Doctor? Something unexplainable, something _far_ more powerful than chemicals, something…” his voice dropped to a whisper, as though the words couldn’t possibly be spoken aloud, “ _demonic?_ ”

And that’s when he felt a vice-like grip on his neck like icy needles against his flesh, pressing into his windpipe and cutting off his airflow. Black spots danced across his vision, and his lungs _burned_ as they cried out for air. Sluggishly, he heard his name being called before he finally succumbed to the blackness around him and collapsed.

-

Wooyoung awoke to a soft rapping on the door.

Prying his eyes open, he glanced around the room. It was evening now, the room dark despite the open curtains, and the halls quiet. As he pushed himself upright, his head throbbed painfully. Automatically, his hand slipped up to his throat, and he winced upon the contact.

_Right._

Dr. Kim, Seonghwa, _San_ , the office, the confession, the anger in those black, soulless eyes, the invisible hand around his neck –

He stroked the skin where he could so vividly remember that vice-like grip. It throbbed beneath his fingertips. Surely there would be bruises tomorrow.

– it wasn’t a dream.

He jumped at the sudden sound of three more knocks from the door to his unit.

“Come in,” he croaked, voice rough and sore.

The door creaked open enough for Seonghwa to peek his head in, brow tightly furrowed. He warily inspected the dark room, but his face brightened somewhat when his eyes met Wooyoung’s. He smiled.

“I brought tea.”

In a matter of moments, Wooyoung found himself clutching a steaming mug of herbal tea, with the nurse seated on the foot of his bed. No words were exchanged, Seonghwa simply watching Wooyoung slowly sip the warm drink, wincing occasionally as it stung his throat.

Wooyoung could see the silent questions in the nurse’s eyes, in the furrowed brow, and the fingers nervously pulling at the loose threads of Wooyoung’s sheets. But he didn’t put a voice to them. He didn’t have to. Wooyoung already knew what they would be.

It was only once he had finished the entire mug, and the nurse had placed it on his bedside table, that Seonghwa finally sighed, settling back on the creaking mattress and resting a hand on Wooyoung’s knee.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Wooyoung’s hand again slipped up to his neck, dancing lightly over the tender skin.

_How could he forget?_

Seonghwa was watching him with round eyes.

“Was it _him_?”

Wooyoung nodded, eyes falling to his lap. The entire scene flashed through his mind in a loop. Dr. Kim, his words, Wooyoung’s sudden anger, the look in San’s eyes, the words he never intended to let spill, throwing caution to the wind, the look in San’s eyes, the icy grip on his neck, the look in San’s eyes, San–

“He doesn’t want others to know.” He rasped. “He tries to keep the truth bottled up inside of me.”

At the nurse’s silence, he glanced back up. Seonghwa was studying him pensively.

“Do you think he’s afraid?”

“Huh?”

Seonghwa leaned forwards, like he was sharing a secret.

“You think that he’s a demon, right? So, if he hasn’t already possessed you, he must be trying to. I don’t know much about demons, but I’ve done some research so far, and the key factor seems to be belief. Basically, they can only really do what you allow them to. If you don’t believe they exist, they’re powerless. However, the more you do believe, and the more you invest in them, the more of you they’ll take.

“If you’re isolated – if you have no one close to you to talk about this with – it’s far easier for him to make you believe everything he tells you. And if he’s really a demon, that means he definitely won’t have your best interests at heart. I think he’s trying to manipulate you, Wooyoung.”

Seonghwa’s eyes were dark.

“And I think he’s afraid that when you’re not alone, you’re too powerful for him to control.”

Wooyoung stared at the empty wall across from him, Seonghwa’s words ringing through his mind.

That made so much sense.

San was manipulative by nature, always had been. It wasn’t a stretch to assume that maybe, just maybe, Wooyoung had gotten it wrong. Maybe he didn’t need to face San alone. Maybe the demon had _wanted_ him to face San alone.

He felt dizzy, the possibility washing over him like the frigid waves of the sea. His head was swimming.

Where did the lies end and truth begin? How many of the demon’s threats were empty? How much of what he wanted Wooyoung to believe was true? How much had he already been deceived? What was the true cost?

Was it possible… to be free?

Was it possible to actually overpower the creature? Was Wooyoung capable of actually ridding himself once and for all of the disease that was San?

… Could he actually bring himself to do it if given the chance?

“Hey, it’s a thought, right?” Seonghwa shrugged, a familiar light returning to his features.

“Now,” he rose from the bed and lightly slapped Wooyoung’s knee, “Hit the showers. It’s already past curfew, and I really don’t want to get in trouble. I’m supposed to be the responsible one here.”

Before he could step away, Wooyoung leapt forward and wrapped the nurse in a hug.

“What’s this?” Seonghwa laughed softly.

“Thank you,” was all he could mumble into the nurse’s shirt, “For everything.”

Warm arms wrapped around him tightly in response.

The nurse mumbled into his hair, so quietly that Wooyoung wondered if he was meant to hear it.

“Always.”

Then Seonghwa pulled away, gently nudging him to the door with a watery smile.

“Shower. Now.”

-

With a rusty _squeak_ , Wooyoung turned the shower knob, cutting off the flow of water.

The stall was humid and billowing with clouds of fine mist as he stepped out, into the larger portion of the little curtained room, where his towel hung on a wall hook. He shook the moisture from his hair, before grabbing the cloth and running it methodically over the damp strands.

It was almost funny how accustomed he now was to the silence of the washroom after-curfew. How peaceful the empty echo of water droplets falling to tile floors sounded now over the regular bustle and laughter of the room.

As he slipped into his clean change of clothing, he took a moment to just stand and savor it.

The silence.

The emptiness.

The feeling of actually being alone.

Is this what it would feel like in a world without San?

Would he find more moments like this? Moments where he could be this alone? Moments that he could actually hear his own thoughts? Where he could actually believe that he was normal?

Is this what he wanted?

Wooyoung tipped his head back, closing his eyes, only realizing now how heavy they felt. He allowed the stillness of the room to seep into his soul, and, for just a moment, he realized that he could actually imagine it.

A world without San.

A world without the constant raging of conflicting ideas in his mind. A world without the constant other presence lingering somewhere nearby. A world without that familiar voice, that shadow in the corner, that face in his dreams, and that hand on his cheek.

He could picture it so clearly, as if it was HD. He could return to his mother. He could come _home_. He could leave the dark and lonely room in Gonjiam and return to his life that he had before. He could _live_ again.

Maybe he would go to university. Maybe he would find a job. He could make friends. He could hang out with them on weekends without having to ignore that particular voice whispering in his ear until he accidentally responded and his cover was blown.

He could… _love_ someone. He wouldn’t have to be afraid of the demon on his shoulder falling into wild fits of jealousy and doing something reckless. He could _trust_ someone and let them in to his life and bare his soul to them and not have to worry about their safety.

His heart wrenched.

The dream dimmed.

His thoughts were completely taken up by the flash of hurt on a certain boy’s face the moment Wooyoung finally broke his heart.

Wooyoung’s eyes opened, and he frowned.

How could he deserve to love?

How could he deserve any of this after the hurt he’d caused?

Perhaps he was simply destined to a life with San, because that was all he truly deserved – someone as manipulative and destructive as himself.

Perhaps all he deserved was –

The door to the washrooms creaked.

Wooyoung froze.

The only sounds he could hear were the occasional drop of water echoing through the room and the subtle rumbling of the boiler.

The silence doing nothing to settle his unease, Wooyoung crept to the edge of his shower stall and pressed his ear to the curtain. Holding his breath, he listened.

It was too faint to hear at first, over the ambient noise of the building, but the longer he stood, fixed in his place, the more he was able to make out a specific noise.

He could hear the sound of footsteps, nearly undetectable but unmistakable, approaching his shower stall.

His blood ran cold, but he didn’t dare move a muscle.

He slunk back from the curtain, pressing himself into the damp tile wall of the little room.

Quickly, he scanned the little space. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to go. Nothing but a wire chair to hide behind. His only point of escape was the curtained door to the shower, not even an air vent or a window nearby that he could crawl through.

He was completely trapped, and he was completely alone.

The footsteps were louder now – nearby. They must have been right outside the stall, and drawing closer, closer.

Then he saw it. The shadow of a figure stopping directly in front of him, just outside the curtain. The fabric rustled.

Wooyoung beat them to it, surging forwards and flinging open the curtain.

The figure yelped and scrambled backwards.

Wooyoung stared in stunned silence, hand still clutching the fabric. In front of him, in flesh and blood, was the very last person he had ever expected to see.

His voice shook in disbelief.

_“Yeosang…?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh!! What's going to happen??
> 
> Sorry for the cliffhanger ending TT TT I was already at 4k words and it was the only natural break in the story, please forgive me
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts and theories of what's going to happen! Leave a comment or talk to me on my twitter or CuriousCat!! @thx_its_versace
> 
> See you soon!  
> xo Versace


	16. Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 3 AM and my eyes were going blurry as I was proofreading, so please forgive any mistakes or dialogue that doesn't quite make sense ㅠㅠ 
> 
> Enjoy the (very late) chapter!!
> 
> xo Versace

The silence of the empty washroom was punctuated by the occasional dripping of water from leaky faucets and shower heads. Thick clouds of steam billowed upwards, dissipating against the cement ceiling. Everything was still, as though the entirety of Gonjiam were holding its breath in anticipation.

From across the narrow aisle that ran along the row of shower stalls, Yeosang stood, motionless apart from his chest which was heaving for air. He was watching Wooyoung with an unreadable face, one hand hovering in front of him as though he couldn’t quite decide what to do with it.

He looked like a cornered animal, deciding whether to escape or to fight.

“What are you doing here?” finally letting the shower curtain fall from his fingers, Wooyoung risked a step forward. Yeosang flinched slightly, his eyes tracking the movement.

He took another step, slow and cautious as though approaching a frightened animal, before lifting his hand in an attempt to breach the space in between.

Then, Yeosang slapped him, clean across the face.

Wooyoung stumbled backwards, in shock more so than in pain. Absently, he raised a hand to the stinging skin. Yeosang was staring at his own hand with an expression somewhere between surprise and mild horror.

“I… don’t know why I did that.” He mumbled as though to himself.

Wooyoung chuckled humorlessly, carefully rubbing the mark, “Let’s be honest, I deserved it.”

Yeosang’s eyes flickered up to him, expressionless.

“Yeah, you kind of did.”

The silence stretched between them like a chasm that neither was equipped to cross. Such unfamiliar territory to both of them, the distance between them feeling foreign. Wooyoung could do little more than stare helplessly, rememorizing every detail of the boy’s face and recounting every single way that he had failed him.

Never, in a thousand lifetimes, could Wooyoung earn even a piece of the love that Yeosang had been so careless to give him. But he had to right at least some of his wrongs. Yeosang deserved that at the very least. He swallowed.

“I – ”

“Woo – ”

Yeosang’s lips quirked up at the end, “You first.”

Wooyoung breathed out shakily, “I…. Just…”

He sighed, dropping his eyes to where his hands nervously fumbled in front of him.

“…I’m really sorry,” he finally sighed, glaring down at his hands, “I’m sorry that I made you a part of my life. I’m sorry for being so selfish and wanting to keep you all to myself when I wasn’t even strong enough to give myself entirely to you in the first place,”

“Wooyoung.”

He hated that tone in Yeosang’s voice.

That tone that sounded like it was about to break completely, that he was doing all he could to keep it steady. He hated that he was the one that made it sound like that. So small, so broken, so _fragile_.

Water began distorting his vision while he gazed helplessly at his hands in front of him. His jaw clenched as he held back a sob. Yeosang didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve someone so weak, so pitiful.

“I – I’m sorry for ever thinking I could love you with even an ounce of the love that you deserve.”

“Woo, look at me – ”

Wooyoung shook his head, cutting Yeosang off. He wasn’t sure where these words were coming from, but now that they had started tumbling from his lips, he couldn’t stop them. He needed to say this. Yeosang deserved the truth, and it was the very least he could give him.

He needed to end things. Here and now. He needed to cut Yeosang out of his life once and for all until San could never reach him.

And if he looked at Yeosang, if he saw the pain in his eyes, he knew his resolution would crumble. He knew he’d never be able to bring himself to do it.

Perhaps he could do at least this one thing right.

“I can’t do this, Sangie. _We_ can’t do this,”

He swallowed thickly,

“San’s too powerful, too dangerous. He’s jealous and territorial and has the biggest temper and… I can’t let him hurt you. If he even laid a _finger_ on you, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. It’s just too much of a risk, and I’m too much of a coward to take it.”

The warm prickle of tears threatened to spill over, so he clenched his eyes shut, inhaling deeply.

“I’m sorry…” his voice was barely a whisper, “but I can’t do this anymore. I can’t love you anymore.”

And with that, the words that had haunted him for so long, weighed down his chest for so many nights, raced through his mind so many times, were spoken. They filled the stagnant air in between them, tainting the air of the room until it hurt to breathe it in. Was that possible? How else could Wooyoung explain the sudden ache in his chest?

The world seemed to pause on its axis for a moment while the room began spinning instead. Time slowed to a painful crawl and yet the silence in the room seemed to stretch out to an eternity. Wooyoung braced himself for the moment he’d hoped would never come – the snapping of the final thread holding them together. He listened for the exact moment that the glass boy finally shattered beneath his reckless foot.

But it never came.

“Shut up.”

Yeosang… _laughed_.

It was followed by a hiccup and a quiet sniffle, but a laugh nevertheless.

Wooyoung looked up in surprise only moments before a warm body collided with his own, arms wrapping him tightly.

“Yeosang – ?” he began, but he wasn’t even sure what to say next. Words seemed far too insignificant to express everything running through him in that moment. Guilt, shame, frustration, adoration, relief… _love_ – nothing could fully express the ache that clawed at his chest.

And even if, by some miracle, he could find the words to say, he wasn’t sure he could even bring himself to speak around the lump in his throat.

Thankfully the smaller boy spoke up so he didn’t have to.

“I love you.”

He pulled away, but just enough to look up at Wooyoung, eyes twinkling with a watery intensity in the low light.

“Okay, first of all, you’re an _asshole_. I’ve had no idea what’s been happening in your head lately, and you never even tried to tell me what’s going on. If you actually did love me – which I _really_ want to believe is true – then _stop pushing me away_.”

Yeosang sighed, the action melting some of the anger from his features until he just looked tired.

“I know this isn’t you, Wooyoung. I don’t know exactly what’s going on in your head right now, and I don’t know why you wouldn’t just _tell_ me what’s going on in the first place, but… I know this isn’t you. When you k – kissed him…” his eyes dropped, “I didn’t know _why_ you did that … I _hated_ that you did that… but I knew that there just _had_ to be a reason.”

When his chocolate eyes returned to meet Wooyoung’s they were brimming with little beads of water.

“I love you, Woo.” He murmured, as softly as a secret, “And I know you weren’t lying when you said the same thing to me. So, please,”

A tiny hand came up to rest on Wooyoung’s cheek.

Somehow it hurt infinitely worse than the slap ever did.

“Let me help you. Stop holding everything in and pretending it’s okay. You can’t fight all your battles alone, and I refuse to sit back and let you.”

Wooyoung’s heart clenched. He wrapped his own hand around the hand on his face. It was so warm.

“No,” he choked out, pulling the hand away. He stepped backwards, unable to look at him, “You don’t understand, It’s too dangerous – _San’s_ too dangerous. I can’t put you at risk like that, knowing the cost.”

“You won’t have to.” Yeosang’s voice cut through the roar of his thoughts like glass.

“ _I_ will.” The boy’s voice was defiant.

“ _You_ don’t get to choose what _I’m_ willing to sacrifice.” He stepped closer, closing the distance between them, but Wooyoung couldn’t bring himself to look at the boy.

Two hands came up to cup Wooyoung’s face. He jolted in surprise as he found Yeosang’s serious eyes inches from his own.

“I’ve only lived a few weeks without you in my life, but it was long enough for me to decide that _I will follow you down to hell if that’s what it takes to keep you_.”

Gentle fingers wiped away the tears Wooyoung never even realized had fallen from his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He rasped, “I’m so sorry.”

“I know,”

Wooyoung was drowning in those sympathetic eyes.

“Never push me away again. Pull me closer. I’ll always be here.”

So, he did.

They surged together and met in the middle in a desperate fury of lip and tongue that Wooyoung had never known the boy to be capable of. His hands wandered across the other, trailing up his arms, his neck, his back, his hair – as though trying to convince himself that this was real, that Yeosang was really in front of him.

Yeosang whimpered into Wooyoung’s mouth and it stirred up a hunger in the pit of his stomach that he’d never known before. The kiss was deeper than they’d ever dared to go, and yet not a single step of the way felt foreign.

It was like coming home.

Yeosang’s warm skin beneath his fingertips, the soft little gasps and whines breathed into Wooyoung’s mouth, his body, so trusting and pliant in his arms, as though asking Wooyoung to lead the way, and promising to follow.

They were waves finally breaking upon meeting the immovable stone of the shore. It was the mixing and blending of salt and freshwaters the way their tears entangled with their tongues. It was the fury of the tempest and the silence of the eye of the storm, the rain and the calm, the breaking point and the mending. It was the end, and it was the beginning.

Yeosang, the sweet, steady little creek, had pushed his way back to the fury of the raging sea, melting into the waves in a dance of fingers and lips and hands. He fell, so willing and so damn _trusting_ into Wooyoung’s saltwater arms which opened, as they _always_ would, to pull him in.

Yeosang’s fingers were fisted in Wooyoung’s shirt, clutching him so tightly that he could never be torn away.

At last, Wooyoung was beginning to understand that the boy in his arms was not made of glass. He never had been. Yeosang was the strongest person he had ever met. Despite how often life tried to crush him, the boy would not be shattered. He was unbreakable. The world could throw all the punches it wanted, but it could never stop him.

And it had taken this long for Wooyoung to realize he had gotten it all wrong.

This whole time, he’d thought Yeosang was the one needing protecting, when it had really been the other way around. Of the two of them, he realized, he was so horribly weak, nothing more than a lifeboat being tossed about in stormy waves which threatened to capsize him. Meanwhile methodical, consistent Yeosang was an anchor, sure and steady, tethering him to the shores, holding him from being swept away by the sea.

So Wooyoung threaded his hands into the boy’s soft hair and clung to him like a life support, and he never let go.

Perhaps it could be salvaged. Perhaps the chasm between them could be crossed. Perhaps, thread by thread, and rope by rope, they could rebuild the bridge between them.

Where, for far too long, there had been nothing but the smallest thread, the smallest scrap of faith, the smallest piece of trust, tying their hearts together.

Perhaps it could be mended, and more threads could be woven in, of all different colours and hues, until there was a brand-new bridge between them, far grander and far more beautiful than the one before.  
And perhaps it would be easier than he’d thought.

-

It was a strange sight – his empty room.

Bookshelves cleared of everything he was allowed to bring with him, closet holding nothing more than clothes hangers and the odd sweater that held more nostalgia than practical use, and dresser drawers sitting open and empty of the usual contents.

Wooyoung was seated on the carpeted floor of his bedroom, legs tucked beneath him. Before him sat a messy pile of t-shirts which he was busy sorting through.

Moving wasn’t particularly foreign to him. Their family had moved countless times before due to his father’s inability to keep a job for more than a year. Wooyoung grew used to picking up and leaving so often that he never let his roots dig down too far. It made it easier to remove them when the time inevitably came to leave again.

However, ever since that fateful autumn night when his father had walked out on his family, they were finally able to _stay_. His mother found a full-time job, Wooyoung was placed in a good school that was close to home, and for the first time in his life, he allowed himself to actually take root.

Up until that point, he’d lived in too many houses to remember, but this one was the closest he’d ever felt to _home_.

This house with its quirks and cracks and creaky floors, its leaky pipes and drafty rooms and desperate need of a fresh coat of paint or two, the four old walls of this bedroom – this was the one place on earth that felt permanent.

Relationships were rocky and unpredictable, family was a bond too easily broken, friends proved untrustworthy time and time again, but this house with its little flaws and oddities was unchanging. It was one constant in his ever-shifting life.

Until now.

Sighing, Wooyoung dropped a messily-folded t-shirt into his suitcase, before selecting another from the heap in front of him.

A quiet knock on his bedroom door pulled him from his reverie. He looked up to find his mother leaning against the frame of his open door. She was smiling, though her eyes betrayed her true feelings, and she was hiding something behind her back.

“Do you have a moment?”

Wooyoung never could say no to his mother. At the vague wave of his hand, she scooted into the room, the object still concealed behind her as she settled herself on the floor across from him.

“We don’t know how long it will be until you can come back, so I wanted to give you a piece of home, something to remind you of me if you ever feel lonely.”

Finally, she removed the object from behind her, gently placing it in Wooyoung’s waiting hands. Upon feeling the familiar weight of it, he looked down in shock.

Her favourite book.

To the unacquainted eye, it wasn’t anything particularly interesting. It was a soft cover book, quite thin and worn, a collection of poems by a lesser-known poet that few would likely recognize.

But this book was something Wooyoung had almost never seen his mother without.

He wasn’t sure exactly why she loved it the way she did. It was nothing more than a book she’d found buried in the sale rack of a used bookstore one day. It had very little monetary value, and the poems themselves were hardly classics.

But rarely a day passed that this book didn’t find its way into her hands.

Confused, Wooyoung’s eyes flickered from the faded cover to the similarly worn face of his mother.

“But… this is yours,” he raised it as though to hand it back, “You _love_ this book.”

But his mother simply raised her palm in rejection, softly nudging it back into his possession. A smile warmed her face as she shook her head.

“I don’t love this book nearly as much as I love the one I’ve always read it to,”

She lay a hand on top of the book in Wooyoung’s hands,

“Paper and ink are temporary, Wooyoung. Words and prose, no matter how beautiful, can be forgotten. The value these things give us is so terribly short-lived. But the memories they give us – the _feeling_ of those memories – are eternal.”

Her hand moved up to graze Wooyoung’s cheek. The smile in his mother’s eyes grew sad.

“You don’t belong to me, child. You never did. You’re a gift that I’ve been blessed to hold on to for such a small portion of my life. And like this book, it is time for me to let you go. But the memories and the moments we’ve shared together will always live on in my mind.”

Her withered hand drifted to the cover and she opened the book to the first page where, in fresh ink and her usual looping font, she had written:

_To Wooyoung, my beloved son.  
My light in the darkness, my joy in the pain.  
There will never be a day that I don’t love you  
With my entire heart, and my entire being.  
You are my everything.  
I love you._

“There is nothing you can do, Wooyoung, that won’t make me proud to call you my son. I will always love you. I will always accept every piece of you that you wish you didn’t possess, or any piece you think is missing. No matter what happens, no matter who you become, or who you decide to be, or who you discover that you always have been, I will always love you. Don’t ever forget this.”

And with that, she wrapped him in her arms and hugged him.

She held such a brave front, but as Wooyoung brought his own arms up to hold his mother in return, he could feel her tiny body exhale a shuddering sigh, which was soon followed by a muffled sniffle.

For one last time, Wooyoung held back his own tears. It was the last time he’d need to be brave for his mother. It was the last time he’d need to be strong for her sake.

So why was it so difficult now to hold back his own tears?

Just as a tightness began to form in his throat, she pulled away, hands falling back to her sides where they played with the hem of her cardigan sweater.

“Now,” she regulated her voice, dabbing quickly at the corner of one eye, “Finish packing your things. We’re leaving early tomorrow morning for Gonjiam.”

And with that, she offered him one last teary smile before turning and leaving the room.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, Wooyoung felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

He turned to find San standing just inside the room next to the open window. A storm had since rolled in and was rapidly darkening the afternoon sky.

He looked hurt.

“Y – you’re really going.”

It wasn’t a question.

Wooyoung stared back helplessly in response and watched as a shadow rolled over the creature’s face as swiftly as the storm rolling in outside. San’s features darkened and distorted to depths Wooyoung had never seen before.

A flash of lightning illuminated half of the creature’s face just as it hardened into an emotionless mask of resolution.

“Very well,”

He turned and stalked back to the open window, pausing with one hand on the ledge before turning to look back.

His jaw was clenched, but apart from that, his face was completely empty.

“You have made your decision, so I have made mine. Do not blame me for what you have brought upon yourself.”

And with the next flash of lightning, the apparition was gone, leaving nothing in his trace but the open window just as the rain began to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all:  
> I'm SO sorry for how long it took to get this chapter up. I have a lot going on in my life right now, and I honestly just didn't have the mental energy to write for a few weeks. I was also really unhappy with how a lot of the dialogue sounded, and I wasn't going to put up a chapter that I wasn't fully satisfied with. I refuse to sacrifice quality for frequent uploads, and I hope you all can understand. ㅠㅠ  
> Moving forward, I'm planning to post new chapters every OTHER weekend, in the hopes that my uploads won't be so random anymore, but I am for certain going to finish this fic before the end of the year! I've outlined every chapter moving forward, and I'm actually SO pumped to write the next few chapters, so I'm crossing my fingers that I'll be more productive from now on ㅠㅠ 
> 
> Second:  
> You may have already noticed, but I've updated the chapter count! Now that the end is in sight, I was able to get a better feel for the pacing, and I've decided that there will be about 5 more chapters and an epilogue.
> 
> And finally:  
> I just wanted to thank everyone that's been reading so far! Your comments, kudos, and messages honestly help motivate me to write SO much. I love and appreciate every single one of you, so thank you for being awesome! <3 
> 
> (Also, I cannot BELIEVE that ITISYIMS is nearly at 300 kudos??? Like what??? You guys are amazing!! <3 <3)
> 
> That's it from me, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!! Leave a comment and let me know what you think of the latest progression! I love to hear your thoughts, feelings, and wild theories!
> 
> Have a lovely week, and I'll see you soon!
> 
> xo Versace


	17. The breaking point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELP... a MONTH later... here we are with 4k+ words and a deeply sorry author.
> 
> Bon appetite.

What a strange thing it is – to love.

It has no room for rationality, for logic, for reason. The stirrings of the heart come unprompted, with no explanation and with no room for argument. We fall into it like the open sea and plunge headlong into the waiting arms of the waves with little to no choice on our own part. It’s as though the heart becomes its own entity – its own person – and overrides any objection from the brain.

How inescapable it truly is – to love and to be loved.

Wooyoung’s arms tightened around the boy held within them. Yeosang was held flush against him, their foreheads pressed together, eyes shut. Neither was moving, both simply breathing the same air and reveling in the sensation of being _held_ again for the first time in so long.

The silence that had stretched around them was uncertain, a sea of possibilities and questions so deep that before Wooyoung even realized he’d fallen into it, he found himself drowning.

What if this couldn’t last?

What if Yeosang realized it was too much?

What if San found a way to come between?

What if this was all a part of the creature’s plan to begin with?

What if –?

“Shh.”

A soft hand brushed his cheek, pulling Wooyoung from his thoughts.

“Stop thinking so loudly.” Yeosang’s voice dripped like honey, smooth and soft and slow.

“I can’t help it,” he murmured back, “I can’t stop wondering if this is right. Neither of us knows what San is capable of. Neither of us knows the lengths he’d go to keep me all to himself.” His fingers curled into the back of Yeosang’s sweater. All he could smell was the boy, the scent of baby powder and something sweet. “I want this, Sangie. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve never wanted something so badly in my life, but… I can’t help but think that this is dangerous… that it’s reckless.”

He opened his eyes as he felt Yeosang pull away slightly at that, not fully, just enough that his big brown eyes could blink up at him, set in an earnestness that Wooyoung had never witnessed before.

“Then let me be reckless,” he whispered, hand cupping Wooyoung’s cheek, “Just this once.”

And he kissed him.

And Wooyoung understood.

All his life, Yeosang had lived beneath the overbearing watch of his father, unable to choose for himself or stand up for his beliefs or follow his own path. All his life, Yeosang had been forced into cautiousness, unable to take an independent step without backlash or to make a decision for himself without being forced into submission.

Ever since he’d met Wooyoung, the boy had been so at home in the shelter of Wooyoung’s wing, always a quiet little thing so in need of protection.

But this wasn’t that boy now in Wooyoung’s arms. This wasn’t the shivering creature Wooyoung had met so long ago, unsure of how autonomy really worked and more than willing to pass it off to someone else, so desperate for the domineering guidance he’d grown up with and come to find safety in.

No, that boy did not exist any longer.

The Yeosang who was now writhing and gasping under Wooyoung’s touch as their tongues entwined in a filthy dance was a _man._ He was scarred and calloused by a life of being constantly hurt by those who claimed to love him, and yet he was willing all the same to give everything away – his life, his safety, his very _soul_ – for love.

Yeosang had seen a thousand pathetic excuses for love, but he’d never stopped believing in the real thing. And now here he was with someone as undeserving as Wooyoung, someone all too capable of throwing Yeosang’s affection back in his face, and even yet decided that he was somehow worth it.

He saw something inside him that even Wooyoung couldn’t discern and he, the careful, methodical, and always so painstakingly _cautious_ Yeosang, simply wanted to be reckless for the first time in his life and _love_ with a heart that had never even known how it feels to be loved in return.

Wooyoung’s heart wrenched.

How could he possibly deny him?

“Okay,” he murmured the words against Yeosang’s parted lips.

“Just this once.”

He sealed the promise with another gentle kiss, slow and languid and dreamlike, only pulling away when he felt a single drop of water roll down his cheek.

It was only once he’d pulled back enough to find Yeosang’s glistening freshwater eyes gazing up at him with all the revelation of someone who may have finally discovered how it feels to actually be loved,

That Wooyoung realized,

The tear wasn’t his own.

-

It was dark out when Wooyoung slipped back into his room, carefully clicking the heavy door shut behind him.

He padded over to his cot, dropping onto the creaky frame and tucking himself up into a ball on his side. Absently, his eyes lingered on the bed across from him for a moment longer than usual, empty still as it always was, but the emptiness felt smaller now, less daunting.

_I will follow you down to hell if that’s what it takes to keep you._

Surely it wouldn’t come to that…

Right…?

Wooyoung rested his head on his pillow, a hand slipping up beneath the soft cushion as he got comfortable. He froze when his fingers brushed cold metal.

The rosary.

The metal cross that Yeosang had given him to protect him from evil.

Tugging it out from under the pillow, Wooyoung slowly sat up to study it, the engraved metal glinting in the moonlight from the open window.

He wasn’t exactly superstitious or religious, but if any of that was true – if there was any chance that this could offer even the slightest protection, Yeosang was the one who deserved it, not Wooyoung. This wasn’t his battle to fight, regardless of how much he wanted to be involved. The very least he could allow Wooyoung to do would be to offer this little piece of safety. Even if it was little more than a placebo to help him sleep at night.

So, he found himself slipping the necklace into the pocket of his sweatpants, shoving his feet back into his slippers, and leaving his unit for the second time that night.

The hallways were vacant and dark, it must be well after midnight by now. After a quick check in both directions, and after ensuring the coast was clear, Wooyoung took off down the halls, feet thumping softly against the concrete in his slippers.

Blank doors passed by in a blur as he ran through hallway after hallway, trusting blindly his memory of that one previous night that he’d followed this route before.

He prayed it hadn’t been a dream.

Just as he was about to round one corner, he froze, before throwing himself back against the wall. A nurse shuffled by, directly in his line of sight, though completely engrossed in the notes on her clipboard. Silencing his heavy breathing as best he could, he dug himself as deeply into the shadows as he was able. Seconds passed like minutes as she ambled slowly down the hall in front of him, before finally pushing open a metal doorway at the end and passing through, the metal door swinging loudly shut behind her and announcing her departure with a final _click_.

Letting out the breath he was involuntarily holding, he peered around the corner and, finding it clear, took up his sprint once again.

After turning a few last corners and passing by countless foreign rooms and doors and windows, he found himself in a familiar hallway, standing in front of the room that he’d been to only once before.

Yeosang’s room.

His eyes nervously scanned the corridor on each side before reaching a shaking hand to the knob –

It turned before he even touched the metal.

As he jerked his hand away, the door swung open into the black room, and a figure slipped out from the darkness, nearly colliding with Wooyoung in their haste to leave the room.

Wooyoung’s heart stilled.

San was blinking up at him, surprise etched into the corners of his face.

“Oh. Hello, darling…” The creature’s surprise melted into a wicked smirk and he stepped forward, crowding into Wooyoung’s space. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

As San took another step forward, Wooyoung found himself backing away from the creature in turn. Another step forward. Another step away from the creature. Another step –

Wooyoung stopped abruptly when his back hit hard plaster. San had backed him into the wall opposite the doorway, but he continued to step forward until he had crowded Wooyoung in completely, barring him from escaping.

An ice-cold hand slipped up underneath Wooyoung’s sweater, stroking its way up his chest, but Wooyoung immediately stopped it with a firm grip around the demon’s wrist.

San’s smile grew.

“Yeosang…” Wooyoung breathed, “ _Please_ tell me you didn’t touch him.”

The demon pretended to think for a moment, “Yeosang…? Hmm not sure who that is. But I _did_ just see your dirty whore a moment ago, now that I think of it.” His expression hardened into ice, the playfulness in his eyes extinguishing instantly into something far grimmer.

“You see… a little birdie told me he was making some pretty big talk to you tonight. Said something about wanting to… _follow you down to hell_ … should he need to?”

Wooyoung’s stomach dropped.

The smirk returned to San’s face but with none of the previous playfulness.

“Figured he wouldn’t mind going a little sooner than planned.”

Wooyoung’s grip tightened almost painfully around the creature’s wrist,

“What have you done to him?”

His voice was level, but his hand was already shaking where it clutched the demon’s arm.

“I’m not sure what you mean?” San was positively grinning now, eyes dead and head tipped to one side.

“Cut the bullshit, you’re not the idiot you like to pretend you are,” he growled. His free hand fisted into the demon’s shirt, dragging him closer. San’s hands moved to grasp at Wooyoung’s where he was pulling tightly at the creature’s neckline, and he caught a glint of something akin to shock in his onyx eyes.

“I said. What. The _fuck_. Did you do to Yeosang?”

“Why does it matter?” he flinched at the sudden malice of San’s tone.

“Why do you care about him so much? Huh? What has he _ever_ done for you that _I_ couldn’t??” Suddenly, the demon’s hands gripped Wooyoung’s and with supernatural force, slammed him back into the wall, his lithe body pinning him in place. “Why did you keep pushing me away and pushing me away only to let in some stupid _mortal_ the minute he opened his whore mouth??”

San’s face was only inches from Wooyoung’s and his eyes were deep black and brimming with hatred, lips curled back in an utterly unhuman snarl.

Never before had he looked so dangerous.

“Why did you tell me time and time again that you wanted to love me, that you couldn’t love me, but that you _wanted_ to _more than anything_?” he hissed, “Only to run into that bastard’s arms the goddamn moment I was out of your sight?”

A single, glimmering tear fell down the demon’s face.

It was the first time Wooyoung had ever seen him cry.

_“What will it take to make you **want** me??”_

San’s eyes were frantic, his chest heaving for air.

Then, he lunged forward and kissed Wooyoung, immediately pushing his way into his mouth with his tongue as his hands slipped down from where they’d held Wooyoung in place, instead slipping beneath his clothing like ice water and seeking out all the skin they could find.

Wooyoung couldn’t breath.

He shoved the creature off of him, sending him stumbling backwards. Without so much as a glance at the demon, Wooyoung bolted to the door across from him, still propped open a sliver in the darkness of the hallway.

Wooyoung pushed the door open, eyes instantly searching the moonlit bed for the face of the boy who should be lying there asleep.

Panic hammered at his chest as he, again, swept his eyes around the dark room, searching the corners and the white sheets where the boy should have been lying. Surely, he’d missed him the first time.

Surely – no.

The room was eerily still and the bed empty.

Yeosang was gone.

Blood roared in Wooyoung’s ears, and his limbs moved as though of their own accord. He was frantic, tearing the sheets from the cot, shoving the sparse furniture away from the walls, pacing the room as his eyes searched out the boy once, twice, again and again. He must have missed him. He must have –

Helplessly, he screamed the boy’s name, eyes still sweeping back and forth across the small cell.

A shadow fell over him from where San appeared in the doorway. Wooyoung wheeled on him, only now aware of the tears falling freely down his face, _“You.”_

His voice was murderous. It sounded foreign to his own ears.

And then, he leapt at San, throwing a heavy punch right into the creature’s face. The dull thud of skin hitting skin reverberated in the empty room.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” San’s head was still slumped downward at the recoil of the hit.

Then, he lunged at Wooyoung. Instantly, half of his face lit up in a searing pain. His hand instinctively moved to his face, but when he pulled it away it was bloody. He turned back to the demon, but San didn’t give him the chance to reciprocate. The demon shoved him stumbling backwards until he was pressed up against the wire frame of the cot.

Wooyoung tried to kick at him to no avail, he had too little room to do any damage as the demon caged him in. Instead, he tried to grab at the creature in a weak combination of shoves and punches, until San caught hold of both his arms, twisting them behind him and pinning them there awkwardly against Wooyoung’s back.

For a moment he struggled against the creature’s hold, but it was no use. San was too strong.

The tears were still streaming down Wooyoung’s face, now mixing with the blood on his cheek. He could taste the bitter metallic sensation on his lips.

In front of him, San stood, chest heaving, studying his face. Mischief creeped back into San’s features as his lips dropped into a pout.

“Why does it have to be like this, _Darling,_?” San purred. The demon trailed a finger along Wooyoung’s cheekbone and pulled it back for Wooyoung to see. It glistened crimson in the low light, “Just look at yourself… so pathetic… Surely he isn’t worth all of this trouble.”

“And _you_ are?” he scoffed.

“Oh come, now,” San tutted, “That’s not fair. The only reason you’re in this mess is because you keep refusing me,” he leaned in, as though waiting for Wooyoung to pull away, and when he didn’t, the creature pressed a kiss into the corner of his mouth.

“All of this can be over,” he mumbled into Wooyoung’s skin. “You won’t need to go through any of this anymore. All you need to do… is _love me.”_

When he drifted back, the red sheen of blood glistened on his lips. San’s tongue flicked out of his mouth, gaze locking with Wooyoung’s. Slowly, the creature licked his lips, collecting every drop of red on his tongue, before finally swallowing it with a smirk.

Wooyoung scowled.

“How can you expect me to love a creature that isn’t even capable of understanding what love is?”

San’s breath hitched in surprise, and Wooyoung took advantage of the moment by turning and shoving San down onto the mattress. Immediately, he climbed on top, pinning his limbs down to the bed.

“Is that what you think of me?” San frowned up at him, “That I’m just a creature incapable of love?”

His voice was tinged with regret.

Wooyoung pressed down harder on San’s arms, ignoring a pang of guilt when the demon winced in pain.

“You’ve never exactly shown me evidence to the contrary.”

“Is that so?” he mused. “Because from what I’ve seen, the only soulless creature incapable of love is _you._ ”  
_“Shut up.”_ Wooyoung slapped him across the face. San screwed his eyes shut and took a moment to breath deeply before turning his head to face him again.

When he spoke again, San’s voice was eerily calm.

“Do you know why every relationship in your life has failed, Wooyoung?”

The demon’s gaze was piercing.

“Do you know why your classmates never befriended you?”

Everything Wooyoung tried to hide behind was torn away by the creature’s stare. He felt scrutinized to his very core.

“Do you know why your father walked out on you?”

Wooyoung froze.

“Do you know why in over one year of living here, your mother has never come to visit you?”

His hands shook where they held the creature to the mattress.

“Do you know why Yeosang isn’t allowed to be around you?”

The creature’s face grew distorted in his vision, black spots appearing in the corners of his eyes. Wooyoung choked in a shaky breath.

That wicked glint returned to the devil’s eyes.

“And are you still so fucking naïve that you’re trying to convince yourself that it’s _my_ fault?”

Hauling him up by the shoulders, Wooyoung slammed him back down into the bed. The creature groaned, but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Ah… did I hit something sensitive?”

“Quit doing this!” Wooyoung spat, “Stop playing your stupid mind games. Like hell I’d believe anything coming from _you_.”

The demon tsked, shaking his head at him, “Poor thing… you still want so _desperately_ to believe that you’re something worth loving. Quit deluding yourself. It’ll only make it harder to ingest the truth.”

“What truth?” Wooyoung sneered, “I know I’ll never hear it from the mouth of a fucking _demon_. What did you do to them? What did you do to my family? To my Mom? To _Yeosang?_ ”

San cocked a brow, “I told you already, I never touched them. I don’t have that kind of power here.”

“What are you saying?”

“I want you, Wooyoung.” The devil frowned. “I want you so desperately. I want to take over you completely. I want to entangle myself with your mind until you don’t even know where you end and I begin. I want to become _one_ with you so badly that it _hurts me._ ” He grimaced, “It physically hurts me, baby, when you keep holding me at a distance like this. Tethered to your soul and unable to leave, but unable to come any closer. No, Wooyoung, you never gave me the authority to touch anyone. I never had such power.”

The sadness faded from the creature’s eyes leaving nothing but that sadistic smirk.

“ _You_ , however–”

“Shut _up!_ ” Before he even realized what he was doing, Wooyoung’s hand was on San’s throat, driving the demon into the bed with an unfamiliar ferocity. San gasped in his grip.

“Don’t you _dare_ say another word. I’m done listening to your lies.”

It was apparent that San knew how empty his threat was, as he merely continued, his wicked smile spreading wider and wider across his face.

“While I had little control over my own actions, I found it quite simple to influence _yours_. You’re reckless. Quick-tempered. You listen to every whim of your heart and follow it immediately with little to no forethought. You are so painfully simple to persuade, given the proper _motivation_.”

 _“ **Shut up!!** Don’t say another word.”_ Wooyoung’s voice dripped with venom, but his hands were trembling where they dug into the demon’s throat, pinning it to the mattress.

“So, no, Wooyoung… I never touched any of them.” San wheezed. He smiled, black eyes boring into Wooyoung’s as his face began to melt away, dripping from his body like liquid before immediately evaporating into a thick black cloud. The smoke curled languidly up Wooyoung’s arms and body, drifting across his skin before disappearing behind him.

As the smoke dissipated from around him, Wooyoung found himself with his hands firmly wrapped around another throat.

He had never seen Yeosang look so terrified.

He could hear the smile in San’s voice.

“ _You_ did.”

Wooyoung’s hands flew back from where they held the boy to the bed, before he stumbled backwards off him. Space and time felt distorted, like in a nightmare where you find yourself being chased and the faster you try to run, the slower you move. Wooyoung pushed himself backwards, away from the boy, and he didn’t stop until his back hit the wall across the room from him.

No matter what, he couldn’t tear his eyes from the boy – from _Yeosang_ – who was suddenly all too real and flesh and bone and _alive_ and –

Wooyoung’s stomach turned violently. He brought a hand to his mouth just as his legs gave out beneath him, and he slid down the wall into a crumpled heap on he floor. He gagged, only managing to lurch forwards before his stomach emptied its contents onto the cold, concrete floor. Again, he wretched, and again, until there was nothing but bile. His throat burned and his eyes stung with tears, his vision thick and blurry.

Around and around the room spun. Wooyoung barely noticed when the door to the unit slammed open, allowing the blinding light from the hallway to pour in. He could barely hear shouting, and the frantic shuffling of bodies as a blur of nurses rushed in to the bed where Yeosang still lay.

It was only when he felt the vicelike grip of the security guards grabbing him and heaving him upward onto his knees that the world began to drift back into focus and he could make out bits and pieces of the scene around him. The sharp jab of pain as his hands were wrenched behind his back and cuffed there. The frantic yelling from the nurses across the room. The distinct face of one nurse watching him from just outside the flock of security officers.

The sadness in Seonghwa’s eyes.

“Yeosang,” he rasped, “Yeosang, I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry – _Yeosang_ –” His voice sounded hysterical to his own ears. Roughly, he was hauled to his feet and dragged to the door,

“ _Yeosang, PLEASE._ ”

The last thing he saw as the door to the room swung shut behind him, was the boy finally breaking down in Seonghwa’s arms.

That final, fragile thread holding them together had finally snapped.

And Wooyoung found himself utterly helpless as he plunged down into the darkness.

-

White.

Everything was white.

The walls, the floors, the ceiling, the sheets, and the jacket wrapped around him, pinning Wooyoung’s arms to his sides.

He was in solitary. He was alone.

Alone in a windowless room with nothing to distract him from the deafening roar of his thoughts.

He couldn’t get it out of his mind – the way Yeosang looked beneath him, his eyes stretched wide in horror, tears streaming down his pale face.

He’d never seen him so pale before.

He had looked at Wooyoung without a single ounce of recognition in those big brown eyes. He’d looked at Wooyoung as he would a… _monster_.

And Wooyoung wasn’t so sure that he was wrong.

How had he let it get to that point? How had he not seen through the demon’s taunts? How had he not done anything sooner, or went to find someone, or just ignored the lies?

Why did Wooyoung allow him to provoke him? Why did Wooyoung allow himself to be blinded by rage and attack the creature in the first place?

And why – _god_ why – did gripping San’s throat with every intention to _kill_ …

Feel so morbidly familiar?

It was then that the memories flooded back to him.

A wave of nausea threatened to make him upheave again. The room felt too small. The jacket was too constricting. He couldn’t breath.

His head was swimming with memories he didn’t knew he had. Memories he’d never seen before. Memories that sent a chill down his spine once he finally understood.

He had done this before.

When the door to the room finally creaked open, and Seonghwa stepped into the room, Wooyoung had wrapped himself into a ball in the corner, pressing himself back into the padded walls as far as he could go.

He was shaking uncontrollably by now, tremors shooting through his body like lightning, his breaths coming sporadic and shallow. He couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down his face.

“Seonghwa…” He choked out,

“Why the _fuck_ did nobody tell me that I killed my own mother?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY  
> You have full permission to yell at me, but plz don't hate me. I literally SOBBED writing this chapter and I hate every single minute of it, but it's so vital to the plot and it had to be done.  
> I also promise that this is the worst it will get!! And I promise the ending will not be crazy sad and/or angsty. It will get a lot better, plz trust me!! ㅠㅠ
> 
> Also, this took a literal MONTH to write, which I also am sorry about... but can you blame me?? Writing this physically hurt my heart.
> 
> A huge thank you once again to everyone who's reading, everyone who's left a kudos (WE SURPASSED 300!! WHAAAT!!!! YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING!!! <3 ), and especially to everyone who's left a comment!! Honestly, nothing motivates me more than being reminded that I have incredible and sweet readers like you guys waiting for updates, so thank you for inspiring me! <3
> 
> TL;DR,  
> I'm rlly rlly sorry and I hope you don't hate me<3
> 
> See you soon!! 
> 
> xo Versace


	18. The memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The unofficial playlist for this chapter is:  
> i found - amber run  
> listen before i go - billie eilish  
> i love you - billie eilish
> 
> Listen if you wanna be extra sad
> 
> Also, **** CW/TW ****  
>  Violence, blood, character death  
> This chapter is the reason I added the Graphic Depictions of Violence tag and it will be the most graphic part of the story. I kept it as non-gruesome as I could, but read at your own discretion.

It was a bad day.

Wooyoung fidgeted uncomfortably where he was seated at the edge of a worn leather sofa. The room was artificially warm and dry, a stark contrast to the damp chill of the rainy evening outside the tinted windows.

It was September now, and the earth was slowly shifting away from the warmth and lightheartedness of summer into the imposing solemnity of the winter months. The change in mood was as palpable as the sharp change in the air, that subtle scent of smoke and frost that came and went with the morning.

The freedom of carefree summer ebbed into a memory as the evening light dwindled into darkness a little earlier every day.

How fitting.

An end to freedom. An end to carefree youth.

It was the final night before Wooyoung was to be admitted to Gonjiam. It was the final evening of summer clarity before he would be carted away and locked up into the sterile hospital walls, barred off from the light of the outside world.

It was the last night he’d spend alone with San.

Wooyoung shifted again in his seat, the old leather creaking beneath him. For the past twenty-five minutes, his eyes had remained transfixed on a section of the gaudy patterned carpet just past his feet, but before the legs of the glass coffee table. The pattern was beginning to distort and dance in his vision due to the length of time he’d spent focused on it, but he didn’t dare look away.

“How are you feeling?”

His eyes flickered subconsciously forward, toward the voice, but he was quick to redirect his gaze, blinking a few times as he was suddenly aware of how dry his eyes felt. Had he remembered to blink?

Realizing that he still had yet to answer, he pulled his thumbnail from between his teeth, and mumbled, “In general?”

“Right now, in this moment.”

He was glad he couldn’t see the doctor’s eyes right now, because he knew from that tone that they would be filled with pity. And that was one thing he hated the most of all of this – the pity. Being looked at as though he were a helpless case, as though he were nothing more than his illness.

He hated the stares filled with sympathy. The _poor thing_ ’s tutted under the breath of the old ladies at the grocery store when they thought he couldn’t hear them. The way people tried to make it up to him by being extra helpful, as though it was his body that was suffering instead of his mind.

All he wanted was to be normal. Invisible.

All he wanted was a reason for nobody to have to look at him with those eyes.

With pity.

“Right now, I feel….” He paused. Again, his eyes wanted to flicker back up to the young doctor seated in front of him – or rather – to the space _just_ past the doctor, over his right shoulder, a few feet behind.

To the space where a pair of glittering onyx eyes had been watching him since the moment he’d stepped into the room.

_Do not blame me for what you have brought upon yourself._

Just that morning, the demon had spat those words, face fixed in hardened apathy. Ever since, the creature had followed Wooyoung, watching him from Wooyoung’s peripherals like a shadow in the corner or a phantom at the edge of his vision. Ever since, the demon hadn’t uttered a word to him, as though drawing a veil between them, distancing them in a way he never had attempted before. For the first time since he had actually met San… Wooyoung was afraid of him. Afraid in a way he hadn’t thought possible. Afraid of the very distinct possibility that perhaps the devil’s reach in Wooyoung’s life extender far, far deeper than he realized.

He pushed down the voice inside begging him to lie.

“I feel… afraid.”

The skin around Wooyoung’s thumbnail was red and raw from the way he’d been mindlessly picking at it during the session. He switched to his other thumb.

There was the quick sound of a pen scratching on paper.

“What are you afraid of?”

Wooyoung pulled his thumbnail back into his mouth. He’d already chewed it to the nub, and it was beginning to hurt, but the pain only served to ground him, to give him something to focus on that wasn’t the apparition staring at him from across the room.

“I’m afraid… that I’m too hopeful. I’m afraid that this is going to be just one more thing that doesn’t work. I’m afraid that… that I’ll never find a cure.” He swallowed, eyes flicking to a pattern in the wooden grain of the leg of the coffee table between them, “But… more than anything…”

For the very first time since setting foot in the office that evening, Wooyoung finally looked up to meet the gaze fixed on him.

“I’m afraid that even if it does work… even if I ever _do_ manage to get rid of him…”

Two black eyes stared back at him, unyielding as the grave.

“I’m fucking terrified that it won’t even make a difference.”

-

When the hour was up, his mother met him in the waiting room, standing from her seat the moment he appeared in the doorway. Her smile was warm, but her betraying hands shook around the magazine in her grasp.

The drive home was even more quiet than usual.

She didn’t even turn on the radio like she always did.

Through the rear-view mirror, Wooyoung could feel San’s stony stare on him, but he still couldn’t meet his eyes.

He couldn’t bear to.

The car pulled slowly into the driveway. Outside, the sky was darker now, overcast thickly with dark and angry clouds. It wasn’t raining yet, but it likely wouldn’t be long.

They entered the house without a sound.

Ate dinner wordlessly.

Both individuals pointedly ignored the boxes waiting in the hallway, ready to be packed into the car early the next morning. Tonight, they simply served as a reminder of what was to come, the physical proof that this was finally happening.

That tomorrow, Wooyoung would be institutionalized.

There was no conversation now. What words could fill the gaping silence? What sentiments could lighten the shroud of uncertainty which weighed at their shoulders like a heavy blanket? What comfort could they possibly bring?

Tomorrow was the day. Tomorrow, Wooyoung would be admitted to Gonjiam Psychiatric Hospital, indefinitely.

Neither knew what that would mean. Neither could predict what would come of it.

Fear filled the small room to the brim like a noxious gas, overflowing at the edges. Wooyoung’s stomach turned uncomfortably as he dragged his chopsticks through his food without actually eating any of it. His appetite was missing, anxiety churning too heavily at his gut to allow any room for food.

From across the table, he heard his mother sigh – a deep-chested, shuddery thing.

Supressing every instinct begging him to say something – _anything_ – to ease the tension, the unspoken pain that pressed at every corner of the room, he instead focused all his attention on picking up a single grain of rice.

Truth be told, he was afraid. He was afraid to look and find the grief of his mother’s silence taking root in her eyes. He wasn’t prepared to handle the pain that he knew would be there.

He just couldn’t bear to look.

Eventually, he was stirred out of his head by the clinking of dishes and the scrape of the wooden chair across the linoleum signifying that his mother had left the table. His eyes remained fixed on his plate, meal still completely untouched, as he listened to her footsteps slowly retreat into the kitchen. The clanking of dishes being placed in the sink. More footsteps, drawing closer now.

Her voice reappeared across the room from him.

“I’m going to bed.”

It was seven thirty.

He simply nodded, a lump in his throat. He still couldn’t bear to look, too afraid of what he might find.

There was a pause as she waited, eventually followed by another sigh, and then the withdrawing of her footsteps. A door closing. And silence.

That awful, awful silence.

He lay his chopsticks on his plate and buried his face in his hands.

“What do you want from me?” he mumbled into his palms. The stillness of the room was his only response.

“Why have you been following me all day?”

“Why?” The demon’s curt reply came from the seat beside him at the round table.

Raising his head, Wooyoung glanced over at San, a confused frown marking his brow.

“What?”

The creature turned to face him.

“Why are you doing this?”

Wooyoung sighed, exasperated, “We’ve been over this already, I’m not talking about it anymore. Not with you.” With that, he pushed his chair back from the table and took his plate, the meal still untouched, to the small kitchen where he paused, glancing down at the food in his hands.

After a brief mental debate, he finally scraped it straight into the garbage. He hated to waste food, but knew he wouldn’t finish it if he had wanted to. Not with the unease still chewing away at his stomach.

Instead, he headed to the sink, turning on the warm water, adding some dish soap, and watching as it gradually filled the small, rusted sink with frothy bubbles.

A pair of arms loosely wound around his waist from behind, pinning him gently to the counter.

“You may be done talking about it,” lips nuzzled into his neck from behind.

“But I’m not.”

Pointedly ignoring the demon, Wooyoung reached for a plate, dousing it under the water and beginning to scrub.

“Hey. Stop ignoring me,” San pouted, his chin dropping to Wooyoung’s shoulder. He tensed at the physical affection, unease crawling up his spine.

The plate lay unwashed in Wooyoung’s hands.

“Leave me alone,” he whispered. The words were barely audible to his own ears, but the demon immediately picked up on them judging by the way his entire body suddenly froze.

“What did you say?”

San’s words were gritty, spoken between clenched teeth.

“ _Please_.” It was little more than a breath.

He was so tired.

So tired.

He couldn’t handle this, not tonight. He couldn’t handle the creature’s pleads to stay – to stay home, to not succumb to institutionalization after all. He couldn’t have this discussion again. Not tonight.

Because deep down inside… he didn’t want to go either.

He was already scared, and San knew it.

For so long he’d warred against San, this relentless push and pull, shoving the demon away who only wrapped himself deeper and deeper into Wooyoung’s life. For so long he’d ignored San’s taunts, his threats, and his pleas that he was making a mistake. He’d never responded, never argued back. He never attempted to reason with the devil because underneath his carefully curated mask of indifference, every single doubt the creature presented – was his own.

He was terrified. Terrified that the therapy would be for nothing. Terrified that he would keep trying and trying and trying to pull San from his mind only for nothing to ever change. Terrified that when the person who had become an eternal constant in Wooyoung’s life, in the corner of his heart and his vision, that if he was finally gone… there would be nothing left, nothing of his own.

Who was he without San?

 _Was_ he… without San?

How much of Wooyoung was even real? He didn’t know.

But on the contrary, he was terrified that San would never leave. He was terrified of the possibility that San could possibly extend his reach beyond the confines of Wooyoung’s mind.

He was terrified of the creature’s threats, regardless of the indifference he worked so hard to maintain.

He was terrified of what San could do to the only person left in his life –

To his mother…

The ever-present grief in her brown eyes. The deepening wrinkles in her pale skin and the weakness that crept into her bony stature a little more every day. The trips home from therapy, wordless, always wordless, in which he could see her hope dim bit by bit every week that it became more apparent nothing was working. The worried crease carved deep into her brow when things only seemed to grow _worse_.

No, he didn’t know what scared him more – that San might disappear forever, or that the creature might never leave.

But he knew which option terrified his mother the most, and wasn’t this what it was all for?

Long ago, Wooyoung had swore to himself that he would take on any amount of responsibility that would remove any of the burden from his mother’s aging shoulders.

For too many nights, he lay helplessly in his bed as he listened to her battle against his father’s own demons. Too many nights that he got as far as his bedroom door, before growing fearful at the sound of a crash and retreating. Too many nights spent waiting until the shouting finally ceased in the early hours of the morning, for the telltale _slam_ of the front door, and for the eerie calm that seeped across the house. Too many evenings that he only then crept from his bedroom and down the stairs to find his mother in a crumpled heap on the floor, her pretty face marred with ugly tears. Too many mornings he had spent tidying the messes his father left behind.

And too many days he blamed himself for not doing nearly enough.

Ten years old is far too young for such responsibility.

So, he had vowed to never again allow his mother to bear her burdens alone. Never again would he wait idly by until the fury of the storm had receded before coming to her side. Never again would he allow her to bear the full weight of any pain that he was able to take from her.

Now, as he carefully removed the demon’s hands from around his waist and pushed them away without a backward glance, he was still afraid of losing him. The cold sensation that San’s fingers on his skin left behind still lingered in a way he wished to never lose. The sudden absence of the gentle breath against the back of his neck left a numbness in the pit of his stomach.

But he knew what he had to do.

It never was meant to be about what he wanted, but what needed to be done.

And the desires of his heart would always come second to his duty.

That was a promise he would not allow himself to break.

“Go away, San.” The words broke as they left his mouth, but they were spoken all the same.

San’s voice came from further away than before, emotionless, giving nothing away: “You don’t really mean that.”

“I do. Leave me alone.” A silent tear fell into the sink below him.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Wooyoung.”

“How, then?” His words didn’t seem to come from his own mouth. A glimmer of metal from the counter top beside Wooyoung had caught his eye, and he slowly wrapped his hand around it, before dipping it into the dishwater. His body moved without his control, as though in a dream. A single tear slid down his cheek. “What _does_ it take to kill one’s demons?”

The knife glinted in his hand as he smoothed the sponge across its blade.

And then a hand clasped his shoulder.

At this point, Wooyoung’s memory grew blurred and distorted, tugging into blackness at the edges and the seams.

He remembered spinning then, and thrusting the knife forwards before he even had time to think about his actions. He couldn’t afford to think. If he had, he’d never have let the moment happen. He’d let the split-second of courage slip away. He’d have dropped the knife in the horror and realization of what he had been about to do.

He would have noticed that the hand on his shoulder had belonged to his mother, and not to San.

He remembered the instant that the realization had hit. It came far too late, and all at once.

He remembered the look in her eyes – the fear. He remembered the look on her face, the same look that had been directed at his father for so many years. That very same look now directed at him.

She’d never been afraid of him before.

She’d never had to.

He remembered the clatter as the knife fell too the floor, but he never saw it fall.

He had been too enraptured by the dark stain of red spreading out across her stomach from beneath her trembling hands. The stain that he had put there.

The stain that he couldn’t take away.

He remembered the moment she collapsed to the floor.

Distantly, he remembered San mumbling from nearby, “Oh no, oh _no no no no no_ , this wasn’t supposed to happen. This is bad.”

He remembered San appearing there beside her with dishtowels, pressing them into her stomach. He remembered morbidly how quickly they turned red, completely soaked through in a matter of moments. He remembered watching the demon who for so long he had feared would be the one to hurt her, the one now attempting uselessly to fix the damage inflicted by her own son.

He remembered the moment he finally snapped back into his mind, his body lurching into action.

He remembered shoving the creature away and pulling her into his arms. He remembered her wide eyes staring up at him as though he were a stranger.

“ _Mom – I – I –_ ” His voice had sounded so foreign to his ears, the way the panic seeped through at the edges. His breaths were coming too quick and too shallow, his vision dancing blearily as he tried to make sense of the twisted reality before him.

The words hurt to speak. They hurt and they made no sense, but he pleaded and begged anyways, hoping so desperately that he would be able to explain away his actions somehow. Hoping that he could find some way, some answer that would make her understand – this was never intended for her.

“ _I’m sorry, Mom_.” He sobbed, the force of it wracking his whole body, “ _I’m so sorry, Mom._ ” Again, he sobbed, “I’m so sorry. I thought it was him. I was trying to get rid of him, I – it wasn’t meant for you. I just wanted to get rid of him. I just wanted him _gone._ I –” He hiccupped, hand quivering as he stroked the hair from his mother’s face.

It was too pale. She was too pale. She’d never looked like this before.

She looked so tired.

Somewhere behind him, he remembered the distant sound of the demon’s voice: “ _– Yes, an ambulance… Yes... She’s losing a lot of blood, please hurry –_ ”

Shortly after, the click of the landline phone.

“I didn’t mean to do it mom. I’m sorry, mom, I’m sorry,” his words were frantic, the longer he held her and the longer she stared up at him, her eyes wide in shock and just _stared_ , the more the guilt bubbled up inside him, begging him to just _make her understand_. “You have to believe me, I didn’t mean to do it, I didn’t mean to do it,” he hiccupped, eyes screwing shut against the tears that he just couldn’t keep from falling.

“ _Shhhhh_ ,” A warm hand touched his cheek, startling his eyes open.

His mother gazed up at him, the familiar light back in her eyes. The _recognition_ in her eyes.

“I… know…” she wheezed. The blood bubbled around the stained dishcloths when she spoke, causing her to wince.

After taking a moment to breath, she looked back up at him, tears shining in her eyes.

“I believe you… I… I was wrong.” The tears escaped now, rolling softly down her face.

Wooyoung gaped at her, “What are you talking about?”

Her bony frame was shaking with sobs now, and Wooyoung only held her tighter. There wasn’t much else that he could do.

“I was wrong… Woo-Wooyoung…” she sobbed, “I can see him – can see him t – too.”

Her breath caught in her throat, as she slowly lifted her hand, a single finger pointing to the corner of the kitchen where the demon stood, frozen, watching them.

“ _I can see San too_ ,” she whispered.

He remembered the way his blood ran cold when he locked eyes with San, and the confusion.

“What-?”

And then, she coughed violently, blood foaming at the corner of her mouth and trickling down her chin. Wooyoung hugged her to his chest, stroking her back over and over, hushing her quietly. “It’s okay, mom, it’s okay. Shh. It’s gonna be okay.”

She never responded.

Wooyoung remembered, then, the sudden weight of her body slumping heavily into him, the wheezing sound of a final exhale.

He remembered the feeling of finally breaking, his heart snapping cleanly in two.

He remembered the screams, the horrible, awful sound of wailing that filled the room. The sobs and the screams and the cries.

He remembered the distant realization that they were coming from his own mouth.

Everything felt surreal.

Like waking from a nightmare early in the morning, and the uncertainty of whether or not it had really happened.

But he never woke up.

He remembered the sound of sirens, growing louder, the red light flashing like lightning through the blinds and illuminating the dark kitchen where they still sat, slumped on the floor.

He remembered hearing people enter the house, hands tearing him from his mother.

He remembered screaming – begging and pleading to whoever would listen that he had to be with his mom, he _had_ to see her. He couldn’t leave her side, _why don’t you understand?? I can’t leave her!_

He remembered them draping her body in a sheet, and he remembered being pulled from the room.

And he remembered that, for the first time that day,

San left him alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally sobbed while writing this 😭😭  
> K, I know that I promised it will get better, and it will!!! But unfortunately, there's still some angst and sorrow we still have to wade through together. I’m sorry!!!
> 
> Also sorry this chapter took so long! I’ve been working on something that I’m really hoping to share with you all soon!! The next chapter will be up MUCH sooner, though, I promise!!
> 
> I'm so excited about these next few chapters, though!! I have them all really thoroughly outlined, and I absolutely LOVE where it's going, and I'm so so excited to be able to share them with you!
> 
> Thank you, once again, to everyone who's left a kudos, comment, or has bookmarked this fic! I can't believe we're nearly at 400 kudos!!!  
> Every time I'm feeling unmotivated, I literally read through the comments over and over and it inspires me to keep going. You are all my inspiration for writing this fic, so thank you thank you again from the bottom of my heart, and please please continue to do so!! 💕💕 I literally re-read them so many times.  
> I also am DYING to know what you think of this chapter and what’s going to happen!! 
> 
> I'd also love it if you followed me on twitter @thx_its_versace to fangirl/boy over Ateez with me!! I look forward to getting to know you!!
> 
> I hope I didn't cause you too much pain 😭 See you soon!!!
> 
> xo Versace


	19. Understanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the award for the most unpredictable upload schedule of all time goes to............
> 
> Playlist is:  
> AMEN - Amber run  
> Let me follow - son lux  
> The hearse (stripped) - Matt maeson  
> Blood // Water - Acoustic - grandson

The revelation struck Wooyoung with the force of a high-speed car crash, knocking him breathless, senseless, and confused.

Memories upon memories slipped through his mind that he didn’t even remember having. Like watching a movie that you don’t remember acting in, an out of body experience, or a nightmare you want to stop more than anything, but are powerless to control.

All he could do was watch as a younger, more innocent version of himself, commit atrocities he had never known himself to be capable of.

It was as though he had been suddenly submerged in a frozen lake. His body spasmed and contorted with shivers, his chest heaved quickly and shallow with the effort to pull air into his lungs, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to breathe.

Behind him, the junction of the two padded white walls meeting pressed into his back, holding him steadily upright and grounding him with their immovable constant presence. He needed all the reassurance he could get that he wasn’t dreaming.

Why wasn’t he dreaming?

Why wasn’t he waking up?

Why instead was Seonghwa standing just inside his room and watching him so cautiously?

Why was the nurse’s expression so heavy compared to its usual lightheartedness?

Why couldn’t he wake up?

This couldn’t be reality. It just couldn’t be.

Because that would mean…. It would mean that….

“I killed my mom…” he whispered, eyes flicking up to lock with Seonghwa’s. The nurse’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t respond.

His silence was the only answer he needed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” his voice broke off at the end, so he tried again, “Why did nobody tell me?”

Distress tugged at the corners of Seonghwa’s face from where he was still leaning against the closed door. At his side, his fists clenched and unclenched as though he was holding himself back from reaching out for Wooyoung, and for some reason that hurt.

He was watching Wooyoung with all the caution of someone approaching a wild animal. Gently, as not to frighten it, but so warily, so as not to get bitten.

Suddenly, it hit Wooyoung.

Seonghwa was afraid.

For the first time since Wooyoung remembered meeting Seonghwa, the nurse was afraid to be near him. Afraid of breaking Wooyoung, or afraid of what he was capable of, that he didn’t know. But both possibilities meant a variation of the same thing – that the trust that had been slowly building between them for so long was gone.

After one year of Seonghwa finally looking at Wooyoung as a friend, as someone more than their illness, he was now studying him from across the room and with one hand ready to grip the doorknob at a moment’s notice. Now as he looked at Wooyoung, all the nurse was looking for, was his disease.

“I’m sorry, Wooyoung,” his deep voice finally replied, “I really am. We never meant for you to find out like this. Please believe me.”

“Why?” Wooyoung glared. “No one thought it would be kind of a big deal?! Nobody thought I might like to know that, oh geez, I _killed my own fucking mother?!_ ”

Seonghwa moved to step forwards, but seeming to think better of it, noticeably held himself back. His face still screwed up at the venom in Wooyoung’s tone.

“I know what you’re thinking, Wooyoung. And I agree. I hated every minute of it – you have to believe me. Every time you asked about her, every time you asked me when you’d get to see her again or why she hadn’t visited. It killed me, Woo. _Please_ , if nothing else, believe me when I say that we never wanted you to find out like this.”

But Wooyoung _didn’t_ believe him.

Why didn’t he believe him?

“Then when _was _I supposed to find out? Huh?! Was I supposed to just, what, never know?! Live my whole entire life in some blissful ignorance without ever knowing that I _killed my mom?! _”____

____He was fuming, anger swelling up inside him from somewhere he didn’t realize it was hidden. The pain that pinched Seonghwa’s features caused a flash of guilt from somewhere within him, but no matter how hard he tried, the anger just continued to bubble up and spill out of him. The nurse looked absolutely pitiful but Wooyoung just couldn’t find it in him to care._ _ _ _

____He could barely recognize himself._ _ _ _

____The nurse turned two sad eyes up at Wooyoung, “Please, Woo. It’s not like that. You know it isn’t.”_ _ _ _

____“Then what is it like?” Wooyoung snorted, “I don’t know who I’m supposed to fucking believe anymore. You were supposed to be my friend, Seonghwa. I really thought you actually cared about me,” He laughed, a bitter, humourless chuckle, “I thought that you of all people might actually see me as more than just a special case – more than just another fucked up person to fix up and dope up and kick out.”_ _ _ _

____Seonghwa’s eyes widened at that and his mouth dropped open as if to reply, but Wooyoung cut him off, the venomous rage coursing through him in waves and overpowering any other senses. He didn’t want to hear Seonghwa’s excuses, he just wanted to make him _hurt_._ _ _ _

____“I guess I should have known better. Clearly I shouldn’t have expected so much from someone who gets off on freaks like me.”_ _ _ _

____It was like a light switch, the way the nurse instantly shut down at that._ _ _ _

____“Excuse me?” he whispered in disbelief, the final remnants of familiarity melting completely away and leaving nothing in its wake but a sterile, clinical shell._ _ _ _

____“You know what I fucking said,” Wooyoung snarled, “I’ve seen you and that kid from the ED ward before – Hongjoong, right? – “_ _ _ _

____Seonghwa flinched at the name._ _ _ _

____Wooyoung smirked, “Well, you two seem _awfully_ comfortable together for having a relationship that’s so strictly ‘professional’. Guess I shouldn’t feel bad since I’m not the _only_ fixer-upper to get your dick hard – “_ _ _ _

____“That’s _enough,_ Wooyoung.”_ _ _ _

____The sheer frigidity in his words was enough to cut through the haze of anger, and Wooyoung shut his jaw with a _snap._ He’d never heard that tone on the nurse’s tongue before._ _ _ _

____All at once, Seonghwa was too professional. Too sterile. The blank neutrality on his features too foreign._ _ _ _

____Wooyoung swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat at the realization that he preferred the look of pity in those eyes over the way he stared at Wooyoung now._ _ _ _

____With a complete absence of recognition and a wet glimmer of…_ _ _ _

_____Hurt._ _ _ _ _

____The silence that pervaded the air around them was stagnant and thick, choking Wooyoung like some invisible smog. His lungs felt too heavy. The air too dense._ _ _ _

____Beneath the heavy sleeves of his white jacket, Wooyoung curled his fingers into fists so tightly that his nails dug sharply into his palms. This wasn’t right. This isn’t what he had intended to do._ _ _ _

____All he’d wanted was to make Seonghwa feel some fraction of his own pain. All he’d wanted was to hurt him for the hurt he’d caused Wooyoung. Never in his life had rage engulfed him so blindly, so completely. Never before had he desired so deeply to _hurt_ somebody._ _ _ _

____Yet he had._ _ _ _

____He’d _wanted_ to._ _ _ _

_____Wanted_ to make Seonghwa bleed._ _ _ _

____Why had he wanted to?_ _ _ _

____Finally, Seonghwa spoke up, his dark eyes fixed intently on the floor in front of him and his voice low but firm._ _ _ _

____“I never had a choice.”_ _ _ _

____Wooyoung froze._ _ _ _

____“We weren’t allowed,” his deep voice finally replied, “We were all put under strict orders by Dr. Kim not to say anything. There was nothing we could do.”_ _ _ _

____“Why not?”_ _ _ _

____Seonghwa’s eyes darted up to meet Wooyoung’s, then to the small, blinking security camera in the corner watching them. He was visibly torn, not wanting to share too much information, but there was clearly something he was itching to say._ _ _ _

____From where he still sat wedged in the corner of the soft room, Wooyoung watched the nurse, trying to will down the guilt that was beginning to gnaw at him. He fidgeted in the swollen silence that preceded Seonghwa’s following words. Though he had no idea what the nurse was preparing himself to say, he already knew he wasn’t going to like it. The set in his jaw, the wrinkle in his forehead._ _ _ _

____Wooyoung already knew he’d fucked up._ _ _ _

____Shooting a quick, apologetic glance to the security camera, Seonghwa heaved a heavy sigh and finally spoke._ _ _ _

____“There was a court case involved, due to the… murder,” his eyes flicked up to meet Wooyoung’s at that before returning to the floor in front of him, “The greatest evidence in your favor… was your history of mental health issues – your schizophrenia. As your doctors, we were all fighting on your side for you, to keep you safe,” Seonghwa sighed, hand absently rubbing at his opposite arm._ _ _ _

____“It wasn’t difficult to make a case for you. You may have been an assailant in this particular situation, Wooyoung, but you were also a victim. You were able to plead insanity, due to your mental state. The jury was unanimously in your favor. We transferred you here soon afterwards and honestly just prayed that we were right about you. We were so hopeful.”_ _ _ _

____His lips curved up into a sad smile, eyes growing distant._ _ _ _

____“We seemed to have good reason to be. The very first day you walked down these halls… you had forgotten all of it. You had absolutely no recollection that any of it had ever occurred.”_ _ _ _

____At the look of confusion on Wooyoung’s face, Seonghwa continued._ _ _ _

____“Dr. Kim’s diagnosed you with PTSD. He’s certain that trauma of the event sent your body into shock and your mind suppressed those specific memories as a way to protect you. Unfortunately, that’s really delicate to work around. We weren’t sure what would trigger it, and if triggering may potentially lead to a relapse, and, eventually, a repeat of the incident._ _ _ _

____Strangely enough, you stabilized almost immediately upon admission. Nothing seemed off about you or unpredictable. The Doctor’s hypothesis is that you had already been mentally preparing yourself for coming here for so long, that your brain, in its efforts to protect itself, was able to seamlessly connect the events from the incident the night before you were planning to arrive, to the day you actually were admitted – two weeks later. Your brain just naturally connected those two dots and was able to simply disregard the events that didn’t fit in with your new timeframe.”_ _ _ _

____Seonghwa held up both index fingers a few inches apart, before slowly sliding them closer together until they touched._ _ _ _

____“For months, you lived like that. We kept you under a close watch and were just waiting for the moment something triggered those memories, but it just… never came.”_ _ _ _

____The sadness seeped back into his features. Wooyoung just wanted to reach out to him, but the firm tug of fabric against his arms reminded him of exactly why he couldn’t._ _ _ _

____“As time went on, we all got more and more uneasy about this all, but we had no alternatives. Living in ignorance, you were stable, healthy, and safe. We wanted to maintain that, but we were constantly looking for a way to foster your memories back into recognition. Eventually, it had been months since the event occurred, and your mental health had been progressing so well. By that point, Dr. Kim decided that it would be best for you to remember on your own and remember the true events as they occurred than to inform you of actions you didn’t remember committing and, without the proper context, think yourself a monster._ _ _ _

____So, no, Wooyoung,” Wooyoung flinched as any of the previous compassion vanished from his features, leaving nothing but that cold, clinical stare,_ _ _ _

____“I don’t _get off on freaks like you_ or whatever else you’re trying to convince yourself is the case. I hated every single minute of it, but I did it for _you_. I did it because I wanted what was best for you. And if you fail to see it that way, then I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”_ _ _ _

____And with that, he turned and exited the room without even a look back, the heavy, padded door slamming shut in his wake._ _ _ _

____At that, Wooyoung expected guilt. He expected the nausea of shame to churn deep in his stomach. He expected tears, or regret, or frustration, or _something_._ _ _ _

____What he didn’t expect, was the numbness that spread through his limbs like lukewarm water._ _ _ _

____The feeling of floating, nonexistent, abstract, surreal._ _ _ _

____He didn’t expect that he wouldn’t feel anything at all._ _ _ _

______ _ _

____“Wow, you really do suck at relationships, huh?”_ _ _ _

______ _ _

____His eyes still transfixed on the single window on the section of wall the nurse had retreated through, Wooyoung didn’t bother to answer._ _ _ _

____Instead, he blinked slowly, feeling the prickle of tears in his eyes, but not knowing exactly why._ _ _ _

____“Why did you do it?”_ _ _ _

____San was seated on the simple cot which was tucked against the wall opposite him._ _ _ _

____“I did what I had to do.”_ _ _ _

____“Bullshit,” Wooyoung frowned._ _ _ _

____“I’m serious.”_ _ _ _

____“I’m gonna ask you one more time,” Wooyoung turned to face the demon, “Why the _fuck_ did you kill my mom?”_ _ _ _

____Despite the malice in his words, he still felt eerily calm, as though he’d used up any emotion he had left._ _ _ _

____San frowned at him, and for the first time he seemed almost… regretful?_ _ _ _

____“I simply had to do what it takes to survive, Wooyoung. I never meant for it to get that far. You must know that. _None_ of this was what I wanted.”_ _ _ _

____“Then what _did_ you want?!” Wooyoung snapped._ _ _ _

____For a moment, San simply studied him from where he was perched across the room, eyes glassy and distant._ _ _ _

____“ _You_ ,” he finally breathed, “Just, you. Only you. It’s only ever been you. That’s all I wanted, through all of this. I simply did what I had to do to have you.”_ _ _ _

____Wooyoung sunk back further into his corner. He was so, so tired._ _ _ _

____“You keep saying that, but I just don’t get it. Why me?”_ _ _ _

____“It’s quite simple really,” San’s lip curled up at the corner as he rose from the cot, before slowly padding across the room and sinking down to sit beside Wooyoung. Curling his legs up beneath him, he leaned his head on Wooyoung’s shoulder. It was the warmest physical contact Wooyoung had experienced in weeks, and he had to consciously stop himself from reacting to it._ _ _ _

____“You invited me in,” San murmured into his shoulder, “I never chose you, Wooyoung.”_ _ _ _

____At that, he peeked up at him, their faces only inches apart._ _ _ _

____“You chose me.”_ _ _ _

____Wooyoung’s forehead wrinkled in confusion as he stared down at the creature._ _ _ _

____“You’ve said that too… I just don’t get it. What do you mean?”_ _ _ _

____Resting his head back down on his shoulder, San stroked a finger along his arm._ _ _ _

____“You aren’t the first person to capture my attention, Wooyoung. Your father knew the same struggles long before you ever did. It’s the reason your parents opposed each other so… _violently_ ,” San’s eyes dropped, a frown seeping into his voice._ _ _ _

____“There wasn’t a day in your household that your mother wasn’t battling one of us.”_ _ _ _

____“ _One_ of you?” Wooyoung asked incredulously._ _ _ _

____“Of course,” San nodded seriously, “Your father had many demons, Wooyoung... I was simply the strongest.”_ _ _ _

____“I… I don’t believe you.”_ _ _ _

____“You do,” San studied him with that same predatory gaze, “You just don’t _want_ to. Think about it, Wooyoung. Think about the way he treated you – the way he treated your mother. The alcohol, the drugs, the crutches he always leaned on… the distractions he relied on to cope with the darkness he felt deep within him,” San’s eyes bored into Wooyoung’s, and he couldn’t look away,_ _ _ _

____“For years he allowed us in. For so many years he welcomed the darkness into his heart and allowed it to fester, to take hold, and to eat him alive. He called it so many other names: hatred, selfishness, gluttony, pride. He came up with so many ways to explain the things he had allowed to take hold of him, to creep into his life bit by bit. But no matter what he called it, it never changed what really was the case: he wanted us. He clung to each and every one of us, all of his demons. He couldn’t stand to lose us. Of course, he didn’t know it at the time. He didn’t know our names, nor our faces, only what we were _capable_ of. The power we hold. You see, Wooyoung.”_ _ _ _

____San smirked up at him with a wicked glint in his eyes._ _ _ _

____“We can make you feel like a _god_.”_ _ _ _

____Subconsciously, Wooyoung pulled away as a shadow drew like a curtain across the demon’s features._ _ _ _

____“We can give you anything you want, darling. Money, fame, love, euphoria, _heaven_ …” the creature leaned in closer, ignoring Wooyoung’s attempts to distance himself from him._ _ _ _

____“ _Anything your heart wants_ , baby… We can give it to you….”_ _ _ _

____Hypnotic black eyes had somehow drawn inches from Wooyoung’s face, so close that the next words came with the ghost of warm breath on his lips._ _ _ _

____“All you have to do is _take_ it.”_ _ _ _

____“I don’t understand.” Wooyoung stood up suddenly, knocking the demon away._ _ _ _

____“So, where do I come into this? Just because my father had demons… why me?”_ _ _ _

____Pouting, San leaned back on his elbows on the white padded floor._ _ _ _

____“Geez, you ask a lot of questions…”_ _ _ _

____“And you haven’t given me an answer yet. Why me, San? You keep saying this is _my_ fault, I chose you… what the hell does that mean?”_ _ _ _

____“Your mother repelled us.”_ _ _ _

____Wooyoung startled at that._ _ _ _

____“Her heart was too pure, too strong. While your father drew in the darkness like a magnet, your mother repelled it. This is why the contention in your household was so great. Every single day, the battle of light against the darkness played out, and every single time…”_ _ _ _

____“… The darkness won.”_ _ _ _

____All that he could see was the images of his mother, bloodied and beaten and crumpled to the floor. The wounds, the tears, the suffering._ _ _ _

____“… No.”_ _ _ _

____Surprised, he turned back to the demon who was watching him now with a distant look in his eyes._ _ _ _

____“Every single time, she got back up… and kept fighting. No matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t touch her. Her body, perhaps. But never her soul.”_ _ _ _

____Slowly, Wooyoung sunk back down onto the floor in front of San._ _ _ _

____“But…” he swallowed weakly, “In the… the end. She died because of you.”_ _ _ _

____It wasn’t accusatory. It was a statement. A fact._ _ _ _

____One San didn’t bother to accept or deny, but he didn’t need to. The solemn sincerity with which his next words were spoken was confession enough._ _ _ _

____“Not even in the end, Wooyoung. I never once could take the light from within her.”_ _ _ _

____At that, Wooyoung drew in a deep, shaky breath – almost a sob, but softened at the edges by the thin veil of numbness that still enshrouded his mind. Somehow, the admission of the demon was almost… reassuring. That despite all the pain her mortal body was put through…_ _ _ _

____“Her soul is in a better place.”_ _ _ _

____San’s lips curved up gently at the edges._ _ _ _

____“Yes. She is.”_ _ _ _

____Slowly, so slowly as though making sure Wooyoung didn’t startle away, the demon raised a hand to carefully cup at Wooyoung’s cheek. With a featherlight touch, his thumb slowly grazed the bandage that was there._ _ _ _

____“It’s beginning to heal,” he smiled sadly._ _ _ _

____He had nearly forgotten…_ _ _ _

____Yeosang’s room, San, the fight…_ _ _ _

____The unmistakable terror in Yeosang’s eyes…_ _ _ _

____That had happened only days ago._ _ _ _

____At the sudden change in Wooyoung’s demeanor, the demon winced, pulling his fingers away. Wordlessly, Wooyoung leaned back into the cool touch, until San understood his message and again rested his hand there. The touch was more comforting than it had any right to be._ _ _ _

____“I really am sorry it had to be this way, Wooyoung.”_ _ _ _

____Wooyoung clenched his eyes shut._ _ _ _

____“So why, then?” he whispered into the creatures palm, “Why are you mine, San?”_ _ _ _

____San paused for a moment, his fingers tracing the medical gauze on his cheek._ _ _ _

____“Your father’s heart welcomed the darkness. Your mother’s repelled it. As their child, you – Wooyoung – are a perfect balance of the two.”_ _ _ _

____Wooyoung’s eyes fluttered open at that._ _ _ _

____“What does that mean?”_ _ _ _

____“Your heart is a perfect balance of repulsion and attraction. You repel the darkness just as much as you attract it. You are a scale held perfectly level, not tipping easily one way or the other, simply centered. Some call it a… ‘spiritual gift’.”_ _ _ _

____“Why?”_ _ _ _

____“Because,” San smirked up at him through his lashes, “It means you can choose to take the demon of someone else, to relieve them of it. Your heart has the balance needed to carry it on their behalf.”_ _ _ _

______ _ _

______ _ _

____-_ _ _ _

______ _ _

______ _ _

____Wooyoung awoke with a start._ _ _ _

____He was a light sleeper, a survival tactic he’d learned from a young age._ _ _ _

____Jolting upright in bed, he listened again for the sound that woke him. He knew the routine by now. His parents would fight. His dad would lose his temper. That’s when the loud noises would start, the shouting – lots of words his mother wouldn’t let him say, the harsh scrape of furniture against the kitchen tiles, crashes of furniture, and occasionally the glassy shatter of beer bottles._ _ _ _

____And then the quiet._ _ _ _

____Always so unnatural after the rage before it._ _ _ _

____That’s where he found himself now, in the eerie absence of further sound. So, he counted in his head._ _ _ _

_____One_ _ _ _ _

_____Two_ _ _ _ _

_____Three_ _ _ _ _

____It was like clockwork, sick, morbid clockwork, but predictable, nonetheless._ _ _ _

_____Eleven_ _ _ _ _

_____Twelve_ _ _ _ _

_____Thirteen_ _ _ _ _

____At least twice a week this happened. Once on a good week, but they didn’t have those very often anymore. Usually it was more._ _ _ _

_____Twenty-two_ _ _ _ _

_____Twenty-three_ _ _ _ _

____Why was it so quiet this time? Why was it so unusually quiet?_ _ _ _

_____Thirty-eight_ _ _ _ _

_____Thirty-nine_ _ _ _ _

____When he finally hit the one-minute mark, he slipped out of bed, his bare feet soundless on the carpeted floor of his bedroom._ _ _ _

____Carefully as not to make a noise, he pried the door open, before peeking out into the hallway. Upon finding it desolate, he widened the gap, slipping out and pulling it shut behind him. As he crept down the stairs, he held his breath, stepping along the very edge to avoid where he knew the creaky floorboards to be._ _ _ _

____Once he’d reached the entrance to the kitchen, he peered in, ever so slowly. It was unlikely that his father would still be here. He never stuck around this long afterwards._ _ _ _

____But when he caught the sight in front of him, he discovered he was wrong._ _ _ _

____Terribly, horribly wrong._ _ _ _

____Slapping both hands over his mouth to muffle his shocked gasp, he took in the sight in front of him._ _ _ _

____His mother was tucked against the wall on the kitchen floor, cowering back in fear._ _ _ _

____And his father was in front of her_ _ _ _

____Holding a gun._ _ _ _

____“ _Stop!!_ ”_ _ _ _

____The entire world seemed to freeze the moment the words left his mouth._ _ _ _

____His own heart stopped beating for a moment, his mother’s eyes widened in silent horror, and his father’s shoulders tensed visibly as seconds seemed to crawl like minutes before him in the realization of what he’d just done._ _ _ _

____“Well... wouldja look who it is?”_ _ _ _

____Wooyoung shrunk backwards as his father turned on him, the gun still held tightly in his grasp._ _ _ _

____Vaguely, he could hear his mother screaming, but all he could focus on was the barrel of the gun pointing directly into his eyes._ _ _ _

____His father smirked, the red flush to his features and clumsiness in his movements proof of his drunken state._ _ _ _

____“I always knew you were a fuckin mistake,” he growled, stumbling close enough that Wooyoung could smell the alcohol on his breath,_ _ _ _

____“Shoulda killed you sooner. Less reason to be stuck here with your bitch of a mother,” Wooyoung’s back was now pressed into the kitchen wall, he curled in on himself, tears streaking his face. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking._ _ _ _

____“Better late than never, huh?” his father sneered._ _ _ _

____And with that he cocked the gun._ _ _ _

____Wooyoung didn’t even remember praying._ _ _ _

____He didn’t know what words exactly were flowing from his mouth as he screwed his eyes shut and tucked himself as small as he could get against the kitchen wall._ _ _ _

____Neither did he remember what he begged for, he just remembered pleading._ _ _ _

____Pleading to do something – anything to help his mom. Pleading for someone to stop his father. Pleading for someone to take the gun away. Pleading for this to be over._ _ _ _

____Pleading for this to end._ _ _ _

____He _did_ remember waiting.  
Waiting for the gunshot, for the bullet. Waiting for the sound of his mother screaming. Waiting for the white light, the pearly gates, for the blackness – for whatever was supposed to happen next. He remembered waiting to die._ _ _ _

____But it never came._ _ _ _

____Ever so slowly, he lifted his head from his arms, and he opened his eyes._ _ _ _

____Directly in front of him, his father was gazing, horrified, at something between them. The gun in his hand gradually drifted lower and lower, before slipping from his fingers and falling to the floor altogether, as though he didn’t even know he was holding it. Bloodshot eyes were wide in terror, his face paling. Slowly, he stumbled backwards one step, then another._ _ _ _

____“W-who the fuck are you?” His father breathed, before suddenly collapsing to the floor, unconscious._ _ _ _

____But nothing was there._ _ _ _

______ _ _

______ _ _

____-_ _ _ _

______ _ _

______ _ _

____“San… who are you… really?” Wooyoung whispered into the demon’s hand._ _ _ _

____“My true name… is תַּאֲוָה.”_ _ _ _

____He smiled, the whites of his eyes vanishing as inky blackness took over._ _ _ _

____“My name… is _Desire_.”_ _ _ _

______ _ _

______ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> תַּאֲוָה - Tah-ah-VAH  
> Biblical Hebrew for Desire, lust, passion.
> 
> Yes, you can now think of demon!San when you listen to Desire by Ateez, you’re welcome 😌
> 
> It's 3AM and I can barely read anymore bc my eyes are so blurry so I hope there aren't too many mistakes, but I just HAD to get this chapter up today. I'm really trying to keep this story moving because......
> 
> *drum roll*
> 
> I'm working on another fic!!  
> I am SO excited to share it with you all, but it's going to be a forest demon x hunter Seongjoong and I'm having the funnest time planning it out!! Of course, this fic is still my priority, and I'm focusing my energy on finishing this bad boy up, but I hope you'll all look forward to that with me!!
> 
> Also, HOLY HECK YOU GUYS!! The comments and kudos I have received on this fic these past two weeks have been absolutely incredible T T  
> I'm so wildly blessed to have such kind and encouraging readers, so thank you so so much for reading, enjoying, and appreciating my story!! You all are my biggest motivation and greatest source of inspiration, so again, thank you for being a part of this journey with me!! 
> 
> See you all soon, take care!!  
> xo Versace


	20. Confrontation part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Shows up a week late with Starbucks*  
> Anyways, this chapter is brought to you by Lovely - Billie Eilish
> 
>  **TW// CW**  
>  A lot of blood, descriptions of blood, talk of suicide (kinda?)

The worst part was the silence.

Everything else, Wooyoung could put up with, the blank room, the lack of company, the steady glow of the overhead LEDs, the unassuming cot in the corner, three bland meals per day spent under the watch of one faceless nurse after the next. Those were almost a luxury in a place like this.

But the silence.

That’s the part that shook him to his core.

His entire life had been a series of one distraction after the next, another way to get him out of his head, away from the endless buzz of his thoughts. Layers upon layers of daydreams and ideas and questions and thoughts piling on top of one another until they meshed and merged into a sort of white noise constantly buzzing in the back of his mind.

Over time, Wooyoung learned to distract himself in a plethora of ways – movies, video games, friends, books, puzzles, conversations – a physical drone of words and colours to tether him in reality and keep him from falling back into the mental drone of roaring crashing thoughts.

Distractions kept him from confronting the things that troubled him.

Like the ever-present shadow in the corner.

The ghost in the mirror.

The demon whose name was San.

Distractions kept him from remembering the parts of himself that he wished he could forget.

Like the way his hands looked wrapped around Yeosang’s throat.

Or the way the blood spread out across his mother’s stomach from beneath her hands. The way he had looked down to find his own hands stained red too. The morbid proof of his sins.

Even now, he could still see it. The red staining his fingers. The deep crimson that he couldn’t scrub away, no matter how many times he tried. No matter how many times he stood crouched over the bathroom sink, scrubbing and scrubbing until his hands were raw and red; no matter how much he tried to get rid of it, he could still see it there. Dripping from his fingers. Staining the carpet wherever he walked. Painting his skin with glimmering droplets of rubies.

No, the blood on his hands could never be washed away.

And it was here, in the silence, that Wooyoung had to confront this.

The blood on his fingers.

The proof of his crimes.

The black stain on his heart.

And the demon tethered to his soul.

-

The red light of the security camera blinked in a slow and steady rhythm.

_On ... two three …_

_Off ... two three …_

_On … two three …_

_Off … two three …_

Not for the first time, Wooyoung wondered if anyone was watching. Who, if anyone, was there, behind the lens? A nurse? Doctor? Security, perhaps, ready to burst into the room at a moment’s notice if things got out of hand?

What a miserable job that must be, to sit at a desk and stare at a monitor all day watching someone’s mental state slowly unravel before your eyes.

Wooyoung pulled a face at the camera and rolled over onto his back, the old springs of his cot groaning their protest to the movement.

Absently, he massaged his left shoulder, wincing lightly at the dull ache in his joints. They’d removed the uncomfortable straight jacket a day or two after he was initially brought to the isolation room, but the stiffness still had yet to leave his bones.

He had no idea how long it’s been since then.

Without his notebook and his tally-marks counting the days, he no longer could remember how many have passed.

How many days it’s been since he last saw her.

Alive.

If he had been properly motivated, he could have paid closer attention to the number of meals brought to his little room. But what was the use?

What was he even counting for?

To track progress? What progress could he ever hope to make now?

In anticipation of the future? He’d already singlehandedly destroyed any future he could ever have hoped to see.

No, optimism wasn’t something Wooyoung could afford anymore.

His past had been taken from him, and every future he could have dreamt of had been crushed.

In the small padded room, nothing existed but the present. Eternal, endless present.

Nothing else was real.

Nothing else mattered.

His mother was dead. Yeosang would never want to see him again.

Recovery, renewal, freedom meant nothing to him anymore, because outside the doors of Gonjiam, he had nothing. Outside the doors of this small padded room, he had nothing.

What was there to fight for anymore? _Why_ was he fighting this anymore?

He was just so… so tired.

Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the beginning of his final descent into madness.

If he closed his eyes, he could see the final shards of his sanity shattering like a delicate crystal wine glass slipping off a table and crashing to the floor. He could see the droplets of wine spreading across kitchen tiles, ruby red, creating a stain, so large and dark against that white floor.

Reaching out like fingers as it crept along the lines of the tiles. There was too much red. Too big a stain.

Glistening like thousands of rubies against the tiles.

It was too much red.

Staining the knifelike shards of glass.

So sharp.

So lethal.

There’s too much red.

Why is there blood? Why is there so much blood?

Creeping across the kitchen floor. Where was it all coming from? There was too much blood. Too much blood.

It was covering the entire floor.

The entire kitchen floor was red. It lapped against his bare feet like the ocean at night, glistening and malicious.

It was getting deeper.

Why was there so much blood?

Where was it coming from?

_“Wooyoung.”_

That voice… it _can’t_ be…

Wooyoung hesitated just a moment before turning to look. He was afraid. Afraid what he might find.

Afraid that he knew who stood behind him.

“Yeosang,” he rasped.

When did his mouth get so dry?

And then he turned.

And screamed.

Yeosang stood before him, hands clenched over his stomach,

Where blood was spilling out of him in fountains to the kitchen floor.

He looked so sad.

So, so sad.

“Why do you keep hurting me?” he whispered.

“Why do you keep pushing me away?”

Tentatively, Wooyoung reached a hand forward, until it was mere inches from the boy’s face.

When, instantly, the boy’s eyes turned black as the night.

 _“Are you coming with me?”_ he asked, voice as clear and steady as Wooyoung had ever heard it.

Before Yeosang’s limp body collapsed to the floor.

-

Wooyoung sat bolt upright.

The room was white.

Pure and clean. Sterile. Medical, professional, white.

There was no blood. No wine. No kitchen. Just white.

Wooyoung’s chest heaved with every breath, his hands shaking as they reached up to push back a mess of sweat-damp hair from his eyes.

Once, then twice, he scanned the room, reorienting and convincing himself that it had been a dream. Yeosang wasn’t here. The room was clean and free of blood. He was safe.

The only sound to permeate the eerie stillness of the room was his labored breathing, and the creaking bedsprings as he swung his legs over the low edge of the bed. He rubbed at his eyes with hands balled into fists until blue and yellow spots danced behind his eyelids.

“What the fuck…” he whispered. Not to anyone in particular, more so to ground himself in the moment, to reassure himself that he was, in fact, awake.

It was all too much. Was the isolation getting to him this badly already? It had felt so incredibly real, the blood on his feet, the cold kitchen floor, _seeing Yeosang_ in front of him. Hearing his voice, despite the words being spoken, felt so _familiar_. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed him until he saw the boy in front of him. He hadn’t felt the bitter ache of emptiness until he saw him.

In fact, he hadn’t felt anything until he saw him.

It had been the numbness that scared him the most. The lack of feeling. The lack of remorse upon discovering his own involvement in the death of his mother. The lack of regret that he’d assaulted Yeosang. The lack of penitence towards having singlehandedly destroyed his own future.

And, alternatively, a lack of hope, that anything he had broken could ever be mended.

Instead, numbness had wrapped itself around him more tightly than the straightjacket, inescapable and smothering. Life had been a fog, a mindless blur of tin trays with sad excuses for meals and the cold, unchanging glow of the LED lights buzzing softly day and night, until he couldn’t tell one from the other anymore, and, eventually, stopped wanting to know.

No, for the first time in what must be weeks of his sentence in the small padded room, the numbness was finally beginning to thaw like the last of the snow in springtime. Fading away like anesthesia after surgery.

He was finally allowing himself to _feel_ again.

And it hurt.

There was an emptiness inside his chest, right at the place he’d slowly hollowed out for Yeosang to fit, snug and close where his heart used to be. There was a hole in his chest, yet somehow it felt heavier now than it did before. The bed he sat on felt too empty. The room _too_ quiet.

He hadn’t even realized that over time, he’d given so much of himself away to Yeosang without noticing how little of himself was left. He’d pulled his own heart out from the safety of his ribcage and used it to mend the broken pieces of Yeosang’s without even thinking of the cost.

And now he was alone, in a padded room, with no hope left in his aching body that he might ever see the boy again.

After all, Doctor Kim had separated them for far, far less.

Perhaps, he’d seen something in Wooyoung that Wooyoung himself had been to blind to see. Perhaps the doctor had known the monstrosities Wooyoung still was capable of, even within the secure halls of Gonjiam.

And he had been right.

Seonghwa had said they didn’t want him to think himself a monster. But how could he see himself any other way? How could he see himself as anything other than a monster while living in this prison of isolation for the crimes that he himself _chose_ to commit against the only people who had ever decided to love him?

Even despite the context, how could Wooyoung ever convince himself that he was anything but evil?

Was this the price he had to pay? Was this the cost?

Was Yeosang the final pawn he had to surrender in order to defeat San?

… Was it too great a price to pay?

In the corner of his vision, something again caught his attention. The blinking red light of the security camera.

_On ... two three …_

_Off ... two three …_

_On … two three …_

_Off … two three …_

And then, he decided, that he really had nothing else left to lose.

The bedsprings gave one final groan as he stood up from the cot, before padding barefoot across the small square room. Once he was standing, face to face with the unblinking black lens, he sunk to the floor and crossed his legs beneath him, hands folding subconsciously in his lap where his fingers immediately began to pick at each other.

For a moment, he simply stared the camera down.

Was anyone there? Was this being recorded? Would this be in vain?

One thing was for sure, in this little padded room, living out the sentence for destroying his own life, he had nothing but time. So, he may as well try.

“Hello,” he began. He coughed; his voice sounded so pitifully out of use that he hardly recognized it.

“I… um… don’t know who’s there. But I have some things I need to say. So, please… um… maybe pass this on or, uh, let them know,” he rubbed at his forehead, “God, I feel so stupid, talking to a camera. If there’s not even a microphone attached, I’m just gonna look crazy. But I guess that would be fitting, wouldn’t it?” he let out a dark laugh at that, “For all I know there’s not even anyone listening, but… in the off-chance someone _is_ there… please just… hear me out.”

He straightened his posture, searching for the right words to say.

“Dr. Kim. You were right. You saw the threat in me that everyone else tried to ignore. You alone saw the danger I was to Yeosang, to anyone close to me, and you alone tried to stop me. But there’s one thing I need you to understand,” he swallowed roughly around the stiffness in his throat, “It’s not just in my head. It’s not schizophrenia. It’s not paranoia, or psychosis, or dreams, or visions, or drugs. It’s not something I could possibly have ever made up myself,” quickly, his eyes darted around the room, checking every corner, under the bed, before continuing.

“San is a demon, Dr. Kim. I didn’t even want to believe it myself. I _still_ keep trying to convince myself that I made him up, but I didn’t, Dr. Kim, I couldn’t. There’s no way. I’m not even religious, but now I’m starting to think I _should_ be, cause he’s as real as skin and bone and I’m not sure I want to see the afterlife if it’s as real as he is. He’s real, doctor. If you don’t believe anything else, I ever say, please just try to consider the idea that maybe, _possibly_ … there could be even the smallest chance that it’s an option.”

The camera made no movement or sound, just that constant red blink reassuring him that it was on, and that there _was_ a chance, no matter how small, that someone would hear.

“Seonghwa.”

He frowned.

“I said some really shitty things to you, some things I didn’t even think before I said them. None of it was true. You’ve never been anything but a friend to me, one of the closes friends I’ve ever had in my sad excuse of a life. You haven’t been anything but understanding, you always saw me for who I am… who I am capable of being. You always saw greater things in me than I ever thought I could be capable of,” a sad smile crept across his face, “I’m still not sure how many of those great things have turned out to be true or not, but I’m begging you now, as the one who’s never failed to look for the good in a broken shell of a person like me, to please look for the sincerity in me now, and forgive me. I’ve lost every person I’ve ever loved in my life, Seonghwa. Please don’t let me lose you too.”

A deep, shaking breath. Then,

“To all of my friends from the first floor. Jongho, Mingi, Yunho… Hongjoong. I want to thank you. Thanks for always making my life here a little more bearable. Thanks for your laughter on gloomy days, your company on lonely ones, for bringing life and colour and entertainment to this dungeon of a place. And… most of all…”

It was getting harder to form words.

“Thank you for always taking care of Yeosang for me… when I couldn’t be there for him.”

The cold silence of the blinking light stared down at Wooyoung as he suddenly found salty tears dripping onto the hands still folded in his lap.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to cry.

What a human emotion it is… to feel pain.

“And Yeosang,” he began.

“Sweet, beautiful, _darling_ Yeosang.”

The camera before him was blurry and distorted now from the droplets welling up in his eyes.

He couldn’t remember the last time he _felt_ so much.

“I know that no words can take away the hurt I’ve caused you. I know that nothing I say will mean anything when my actions have never once lived up to them. But I pray that someday you’ll believe me when I say that I have always loved you.”

The last word caught in his throat.

“Despite how much I’ve hurt you, I never wanted to be the one to make you cry. I never wanted to be the one to break your trust that I’d spent so long trying to build. I never wanted to scare you, or make you feel like you weren’t enough, or make you resent me, or push you away. All I wanted was to protect you, to keep you safe, to… to _love_ you.”

The tears were freely falling now. The words flowing just as easily and hurting just as much.

“I wanted to love you and be loved by you and hold you till you fall asleep and stay by your side all night so you could wake up in the middle of the night with my arms around you and you would know that you’re _safe_.”

He frantically worked his hands through his messy hair at that, letting out a bitter laugh.

“ _God_ , I can’t believe how bad I fucked that one up.”

His hands dropped to cup his forehead as he slumped forwards, eyes transfixed on the tear stains on the padded floor beneath him.

“I failed you,” he murmured, “I’m sorry. And I hope, more than anything, that one day you can forgive me. You don’t ever have to forget. I won’t ask that of you. But please just know that I never wanted it to be this way.”

His eyes found their way back up to the unfeeling camera lens, and he could almost convince himself that Yeosang was really there, listening.

“I don’t think I’ve ever done the right thing in my entire life. I’m selfish and put myself before anyone else. So, this may be selfish too, but I believe that the one right choice I ever made was loving you.”

A pathetic, teary smile.

“I feel like such a hypocrite because I only ever hurt you, but… if I could go back and do my entire life all over again… I don’t think I could bring myself to not fall into you headfirst. Loving you was the only thing I’ve ever been proud of. Loving you was the one beautiful moment in my entire disgusting excuse of a life.”

The trembling smile fell from his lips.

“There hasn’t been a day in my life that I didn’t love you, and there will never be a day that I will ever be able to stop. I’m sorry, Yeosang. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry that I had to fall in love with you… And more than anything, I’m sorry that you fell in love with me too.”

The tears had slowed to a gentle roll, and the pain in his chest had dulled to a strange sort of numbness.

No, numbness wasn’t the right word.

This was too warm. Too bright. It wasn’t happiness. It was far too dull to be joy. It was muted, subtle. Like soft pastels or the silence of a snowfall or the way you feel after a long day when you come home exhausted but in the gentlest way.

Ah. That’s it.

_Peace._

How foreign. How new.

“So, yeah,” he scrubbed at his eyes with his long shirtsleeves, “I guess this is my formal apology. And…” he heaved a shuddery sigh, “This is goodbye.”

His chest had never felt so light. So sure. So free.

“So please, Doctor.”

When he looked back up to the camera lens, his face was set in a mask of determination.

“Kill me. _Please_ … just let me die.”

The blink of the red light was his only response.

For a moment, he just watched. Counted the blinks of light. He didn’t know what he was waiting for.

But then, the door clicked open behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so...  
> First of all, this chapter ended up being WAY more filler-ey than I had planned on, so thank you for bearing with me!!! I literally had a super extensive outline for this chapter that was nearly 3k words itself, and I literally used the first 1/12 of it and immediately just completely changed course. I was REALLY hoping this chapter could be way more actiony, but there was a lot that needed to happen before we get there, and this chapter is extremely important in Wooyoung's character development for the rest of the story.
> 
> SO, I decided that this chapter would be broken into two parts. 
> 
> This is part 1, and part 2 I am hoping to have up by Christmas as my little present to all of you!!  
> Be warned... a LOT is going down next chapter. So stay tuned!!
> 
> One last thing....
> 
> WE HIT 400 KUDOS!!!!!!!! Thank you so so much, everyone!! I'm so incredibly proud of this story and always grateful for the amount of love and support it's received. You are all the absolute loveliest readers I could ask for, and your comments and kind messages never cease to make my day. 
> 
> Thank you for being awesome 💕💕
> 
> xo Versace


	21. Confrontation part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, Merry Christmas everyone!! Enjoy the shitshow!
> 
> Also, I made a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2B1zYqQkrjjWQ7yzTDUhSh?si=ry7cCi9CQEGk7gdNLEBC5w) for this fic!! Give it a listen!!
> 
>  **IMPORTANT TW/CW NOTICE**  
>  There's a pretty big TW/CW this chapter, but it's also a pretty major spoiler, so I've put it in the end notes for this chapter. Please read at your own discretion, and please check the TW/CW at the bottom of the chapter if you're uncertain.

“I don’t think that will be necessary.”

Wooyoung turned to face the low voice from behind him.

Standing in the narrow gap of the doorway was Seonghwa, a neat portfolio tucked under one arm. The rigidity of their previous encounter still subtly laced the edges of his voice, but this time there was a faint trace of the friendship they once shared flickering in his eyes. It wasn’t as apparent as it once was, but it hadn’t been extinguished completely… and that was enough.

“Wooyoung… do you remember when I told you that I was going to do some research, to build a case for you?”

Wooyoung nodded. Hope tried to well up within him, but hope was something he couldn’t afford anymore. He pushed the feeling away, to the back of his consciousness.

“Well,” the nurse continued, “For the past three weeks, I’ve searched every resource I could find on the subject, and I’ve managed to build a pretty convincing proposal suggesting that we might have more on our hands than we originally thought – suggesting that this could potentially be spiritual forces at work. Well…”

A weak smile tugged at his lips,

“I’m not sure how you did it, Wooyoung, but somehow you managed to time this confession of yours to the moment I had decided to bring the proposal to the doctor. We were actually in a meeting when we got the call from security that you were talking. Your confession was the best backup my proposal could have had. And…” he paused, the smile growing on his lips,

“Dr. Kim actually agreed to let us give it a shot.”

Everything was happening so fast.

Wooyoung blinked. Then blinked again, the words processing through the rusted gears in his brain. It had been so long since he’d last spoken to another person, and to be quite honest, he wasn’t yet entirely convinced that he wasn’t dreaming.

“What-“ he swallowed as his voice came out in a quiet squeak, “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying…” Seonghwa pulled the portfolio out from under his arm and held it up for Wooyoung to see. The cover was simple, a white background with four stark black words in a professional font. _Demon Possession and Purgation._

“We might have figured out how to perform an exorcism, Wooyoung. We might have a way to finally get rid of San.”

The room swayed.

Could it really be possible?

A life without San.

A future.

Again, he felt the stirrings of hope deep within his chest. Absently, his hands raised to press their palms against his ribcage, fingers tangling themselves into his shirt.

There was a pressure welling inside, enough to burst.

But he couldn’t allow himself to feel hope.

“I… I don’t know if I can do that.”

His voice was small.

Moments stretched out in silence. Silence felt so much louder with two people in the room. He turned to the nurse whose eyebrows had knit together in confusion. It didn’t take much to read the question swimming in his eyes.

“He’s all I have left, Seonghwa. Outside of this room… outside of this place… San is the only one left. I have nothing else.”

For a moment, the nurse seemed to ponder that.

“I don’t think that’s really the case, Wooyoung.”

He paused for a moment, before widening the gap of the doorway a little more. With a quick glance over his shoulder and a reassuring smile directed into the hallway, he stepped out of the open door, exposing the pair of freshwater eyes belonging to the small boy who was standing just behind him.

If he was dreaming, this was the most painfully realistic dream yet. The way the light revealed the softness of the boy’s fluffy hair, the smooth canvas of his skin, the ever-present faint pink flush that brightened the apples of his cheeks, his eyes, so wide, so vast, so deep.

 _“Yeosang,”_ Wooyoung breathed, voice breaking under the weight of the emotion he carried. He couldn’t name the emotion specifically, the one that coursed through his veins at that moment, but it was somewhere in between relief and aching guilt.

Yeosang looked so small, curled in on himself in pyjamas that always seemed to look too big on his little frame. Peeking out from his long sleeves were two trembling hands, nervously tugging at the fabric as the boy’s eyes peered warily into the room.

When they finally connected with Wooyoung’s, the air suddenly seemed impossible to breathe.

The boy’s face was unreadable as he studied Wooyoung. For one long moment, the two could do nothing but stare, stare at the faces that neither had seen since that one fateful night so many weeks ago.

The face in front of Wooyoung was so different from the face that had cowered in fear of him. Yeosang who stood before him now, wasn’t watching him as though he were a monster. He wasn’t backing away.

Why wasn’t he afraid?

Rather than cowering in fear at the sight of him, Yeosang took a step forward.

Then another.

It reminded Wooyoung of when Seonghwa had spoken with him that first evening in this room, when he had treated Wooyoung like a wild animal.

Yeosang was moving slowly, cautiously, eyes locked with Wooyoung’s. But he wasn’t moving as though he were afraid of Wooyoung.

No, he moved as though he were trying not to _frighten_ him.

As though _he_ was the one that Wooyoung should be afraid of.

When Yeosang was a few paces away, he stopped, slowly dropping to a crouch in front of him. He was almost close enough to touch.

If this was a dream, it was a cruel one. Seeing Yeosang like this, in front of him, unafraid of him.

So slowly, a timid smile crept across the boy’s features, warming his face like the gentle glow of candlelight. It wasn’t quite the blinding levels of sunshine that he knew the boy was capable of, but that small flicker of light was so much brighter than the darkness of isolation that had shrouded Wooyoung for so long. His eyes were now so unused the gentle glow that he nearly had to turn away.

It was like looking up at the sun after spending weeks in a dark room, how it’s simultaneously too painful to watch and yet too beautiful to miss. So now, the pain in his chest ached more greatly by the second, and yet, mesmerized, he was entirely incapable of tearing his eyes from the boy before him.

For the first time in weeks, Wooyoung could see the sun.

This had to be a dream. Reality just _couldn’t_ be so kind.

He was afraid to speak, afraid to voice the questions in his head. He was afraid the vision of the boy he loved crouching before him would dissipate into nothingness, that he would shatter the dream and black out the sun once again. He just couldn’t go back to that darkness after finally basking in the light.

But one looming question continued to eat at him the longer Yeosang simply watched him, so at last, Wooyoung found the courage to pull his eyes away, clenching them shut, and asked the question threatening to burst out of his lungs.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

The silence stretched on for so long that Wooyoung convinced himself it had all been a dream. That when he would finally open his eyes, the room would be empty once again, and he would be alone.

It shocked him, then, when he instead felt a hand cup his face, pulling it upwards from where it hung.

“Because it wasn’t you, Wooyoung.”

His eyes flickered open to find Yeosang kneeling between his crossed legs, face only inches away from his own.

His eyes were even more beautiful from this close, and yet they didn’t hold an ounce of fear. Rather, it was earnestness that caused the boy’s voice to waver in his next words.

“That night, in my room… It wasn’t you, Wooyoung. It couldn’t be.”

His voice was so soft, so sweet and cautious as it always had been.

“You never entered my room that night. It was San. I know it was. Your eyes… when you were on top of me… they were black. Pure black.”

Yeosang sat back on his heels, his hand dropping to move from Wooyoung’s face to his knee.

“If anything, it convinced me that San was telling the truth – that he’s trying to possess you, to take you over. I _know_ you, Wooyoung. I know that you would never choose to hurt me. I – I trust you. I still do.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in.

Wooyoung didn’t know what he had expected to happen if he’d ever had the chance to see Yeosang again. To be honest, he hadn’t ever actually accounted for the fact that he _could_ ever see the boy again. This, of all things, was the very last thing he would ever expect to happen.

So, this time, when hope attempted to flicker deep in his chest once again… he let it. He didn’t push it away.

Maybe… maybe he _could_ have a future after all.

He could have a _life_ again…

Without San.

“How do we get rid of him?”

Yeosang glanced back to Seonghwa, a silent conversation seeming to occur between the two, before the nurse responded with a nod.

“Seonghwa and I have been researching… exorcisms,” he turned back to Wooyoung, the smile from before replaced with a hard set to his jaw.

Nodding, Seonghwa shuffled where he still stood in the doorway, moving to lean one shoulder against the frame of the open door, “We think we’ve found a way to get rid of him. There’s just a few things we need.”

-

Essentially, there were two pieces of information they had to know: the demon’s goal – his motive, and his true name.

The goal seemed to be simply complete possession of Wooyoung’s body. San had begged Wooyoung multiple times to _let him in_ , and had complained that he didn’t have full control over Wooyoung yet. The demon was clearly willing to go to any lengths to dig himself deeper into Wooyoung’s soul, that much was apparent.

His name, was Desire.

Or more accurately, it was Tahavah, a Hebrew word they discovered _meant_ desire, but this was a step up from only knowing his former alias of San.

It made sense, when Wooyoung thought about it, that his name was Desire. San was obsessive. He didn’t listen to the word _no_ , and he wasn’t willing to compromise. The creature was the embodiment of a craving, an urge, an impulse – one it was almost impossible to ignore.

So, his name was Desire, and his goal was full and complete possession of the body and soul of Jung Wooyoung.

Apart from that, they simply had to call the demon by its name, and command it to leave the victim. Exactly _who_ was to do the casting didn’t seem to matter, but one thing was very clear: they could not leave any room for doubt in their heart. They had to speak with full sincerity, with full confidence in their words.

When the demon was removed from the victim’s body, they were to then banish it, commanding the creature to return to the pits of hell.

After that, the exorcism would be complete.

“Is that everything?” Wooyoung’s fingers fisted nervously in the long sleeves of his shirt, “It seems almost _too_ easy.”

He didn’t miss the quick look that passed between the nurse and Yeosang.

“When we begin the exorcism,” Yeosang began, “You can’t change your mind. We have to follow through with it once it starts.”

For some reason, his stomach dropped a little at that, “Or what?”

“It’s a straightforward process if we do everything correctly,” Seonghwa responded softly from the doorway, “But it’s extremely specific, every single step has to be performed correctly. If we manage to extract him from you, but don’t properly banish him… he could break free.”

Wooyoung swallowed dryly, “What would that mean?”

“It means he wouldn’t be confined anymore. There would be nothing holding him back,” the nurse’s face was dark, “There’s no telling what he could do if that’s the case, but it sounds pretty clear from what we’ve learned that it’s something we absolutely do _not_ want to mess with. Especially if he’s as powerful as he seems to be even _while_ you’re holding him back.”

Nodding, Wooyoung stared down at where his fingers were tangled up in the sleeves of his shirt.

Eight years.

Eight years he’s battled this demon inside him.

An eternity and merely a moment.

Eight years of therapy, strange looks from classmates, sleepless nights, listening to his mother cry herself to sleep, and… _San_.

All those years of feeling his bed dip beside him, the familiar weight of the San’s arm around his waist and head on his chest, the cool slide of the creature’s skin against his own. All those years spent discovering the taste of the demon’s tongue, memorizing the map of his flesh, exploring every dip and ridge and mountain of his body. All those years of waking up in his arms. The countless tears that the demon kissed away when nobody else in the world was even aware of his pain.

And it would all come to an end.

It was surreal, really. For eight years he had convinced himself that he would never again know normal life. He had come to accept the ever-present shadow in the corner of his vision as a permanent part of his existence. He’d grown to stop wondering if it could ever be any other way.

A life without San…

He blinked slowly, breaking himself from his trance and finding the gazes of both Yeosang and Seonghwa on him.

“So… what do we need to do?”

Yeosang gave him an encouraging smile, concern still present in the faint crease between his brows.

Dipping a hand into the pocket of his pajama pants, he pulled out a long, familiar metal chain decorated with glistening black beads. The metal cross swayed as Yeosang held the rosary up between them.

“We summon him.”

_“Fascinating.”_

Wooyoung watched Yeosang’s eyes widen in a way that must have mirrored his own. Both heads snapped towards the bed in the corner of the room where a single figure was seated cross legged on the mattress, dark hair falling into pitch black eyes.

What concerned him even more than the sudden appearance of the demon in the room was turning back to find Yeosang staring pale and terrified

Directly

At

 _“San…”_ Yeosang’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

Suddenly, a slam resounded through the padded room, followed by the pounding of a fist and muffled shouts. The heavy door leading to the room had slammed shut, pushing Seonghwa out into the hallway and closing him out.

Through the small window of the door, they could see him frantically shaking the doorknob, but it wouldn’t open. He was locked out.

Briefly, the nurse’s eyes locked with Wooyoung’s.

He had _never_ seen him look so scared.

The bedsprings creaked as the demon slipped off the cot. His bare feet padded silently forwards towards where the other two were still huddled together on the floor watching him.

“You really will try _anything_ to get rid of me, won’t you?” he smirked at Wooyoung, sharp teeth glinting beneath the mess of wild black hair in his face. Stopping a few inches from Wooyoung, he dropped his lips into a pout.

“And here I thought you were finally coming around.”

Slow and catlike, San lowered into a crouch before Wooyoung, raising a hand to brush his cheek.  
“I thought you were finally beginning to love me.”

The words were meant to sound like a taunt, but the genuine sorrow that broke off the last word stabbed Wooyoung in the gut.

Clenching his eyes shut, he jerked his head away.

 _“Never,”_ he gritted through clenched teeth.

For a moment, the demon said nothing. He could feel both Yeosang and the demon’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at either.

“Very well,” a rustle of clothing and San’s words grew further away,

“We’ll do this the hard way.”

He couldn’t even remember what happened next.

One moment, the floor dropped out from under him, and the next, his body was slammed so violently into a hard, flat surface that he had to wrench his eyes shut against the sea of colorful spots and stars that spasmed behind his eyelids.

With a dazed groan, he tried to reach a hand up to his face where he could feel blood beginning to drip again from the cut the demon had given him a few weeks prior.

Only, his arm was stuck, pinned to the – floor? – that he was pressed up against.

Prying his eyes open a sliver, Wooyoung stopped to blink, at first against the harsh white light of the room, but then again from sheer confusion. For a moment, Wooyoung could do nothing but stare, trying to make sense of the scene before him.

Yeosang, staring up at him with wide, horrified eyes.

And San, standing in the center of the room, his eyes _dripping_ black like droplets of ink and thick black smoke curling outward from him like an aura.

Then it clicked.

Wooyoung was pinned to the ceiling.

And that was when the flames erupted around him on every side, completely engulfing the entire surface.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. The blood was rushing to his head, and spots danced at the edges of his vision.

Beneath him, San stood, his hand outstretched to where Wooyoung was levitating, pressed painfully into the ceiling. Everything hurt, every muscle, every bone. On his chest, this constant pressure grew heavier and heavier, pinning him in place and preventing him from moving.

He tried to scream, to move, to kick, but it was no use. The weight on his chest only dug deeper and deeper into him.

_“San.”_

A deep voice finally spoke up from across the room.

Wooyoung had nearly forgotten about Yeosang.

But there he was now, standing tall with his hand outstretched towards the demon, the glistening metal cross of the rosary held firmly in his fingertips.

The pressure on Wooyoung’s chest lightened slightly when the creature glanced towards the boy, an amused smile playing at his lips.

“What do we have here?” he purred.

Yeosang snarled.

_“I command you, Tahavah, demon of Desire, to leave this man and never come back.”_

The venomous words rang through the silent room.

Yeosang’s stance was unbridled fury, only barely betrayed by the slight tremor of the hand holding the chain. But not once did he break eye contact with the demon.

San’s full attention shifted to Yeosang at that. Wooyoung yelped as he felt the entire weight immediately leave his body all at once, and he dropped down, down to the floor beneath him. The padding helped to partially break his fall, but the sudden impact of it all knocked the wind from his chest. He gasped for breath, but every effort to pull air into his lungs felt like swallowing shards broken glass.

Groaning in pain, Wooyoung curled in on himself, trying to find a position that didn’t cause his lungs to burn. Nausea rolled in his stomach.

When the demon finally spoke, Wooyoung could hear the smirk in San’s voice.

“I’m afraid that’s not exactly how this works.”

Before he could scream Yeosang’s name, the demon swept a hand towards the farthest wall across from them. The next thing he knew, Yeosang’s limp body was flung across the room and into the wall like a ragdoll. With a sickening _thud_ , the boy struck the wall, before bouncing back off it and collapsing to the floor where he then lay, motionless.

With a faint tinkling of metal chain and glass beads, the rosary skidded across the padded floor.

Slowly, the demon approached Yeosang’s crumpled form, a pitiful heap on the ground.

“I should have just ended this the _first_ time I had the chance,” San growled, “I should have just done the job myself instead of thinking your _lover boy_ would be capable of doing the job right. At least _I’d_ have followed through with it.”

Crouching down, San gripped the boy roughly by his hair, jerking his head upward.

The demon cocked his head, a sadistic smile seeping through his taunting words, “You’d better say goodbye to your lover, before I send you on your way. What’s that phrase… _till death do us part?_ ” the demon chuckled under his breath, “I can arrange that.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened, but it wasn’t in fear.

Death.

The splitting of the soul from the body.

The setting free of the spirit from its mortal cage.

Something suddenly clicked, thoughts and memories beginning to race through his mind. It finally made sense. It was all finally coming together. Every obscure piece of the puzzle he didn’t even know he was playing was finally laid out before him, and every single move _finally_ made sense.

Wooyoung pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, the pain in his body dulled with the newfound realization of what he had to do. Wildly, he searched the area around him. He wasn’t entirely sure what exactly he needed, what he could use, but he knew that he needed something – _something_ – to… _there!_

The rosary gleamed only a few feet away from him on the padded floor.

The sturdy length of chain, the heavy metal cross… there were so many reasons this might not work, but right now it really was the best chance he had.

Shooting a quick glance to the demon’s back, and ensuring he was still turned away, Wooyoung scrambled across the floor and scooped up the rosary into his hand.

The demon was still holding Yeosang up by the hair, but now he also had a hand pressed into the boy’s chest, black smoke beginning to curl around his pointed fingers where they dug into Yeosang’s skin through his thin shirt.

Yeosang simply hung there, unresponsive. He looked so pitiful, so helpless.

But Wooyoung wasn’t afraid anymore.

“I get it now.”

Startled, San turned to him, tightening his grip on Yeosang slightly. The boy winced subtly at the action, no more than a flick of the eyebrows and a faint curl of the lips. Despite not finding any other signs of consciousness, Wooyoung’s heart surged at the mere fact that this meant he was still _alive._

Which meant there was still hope.

And there was still a chance that Wooyoung could finally redeem himself.

Wooyoung staggered to his feet in the center of the room, a smile on his lips, and the rosary gripped tightly in one hand. From the very end of the decorative chain, the gleaming crucifix slowly swayed.

“I think I finally understand,” he started again, “All these years… you’ve pushed me to do so many things, so many horrors I never would have thought myself to be capable of. All these years, you’ve influenced so many of my decisions, so many of my choices. All these years, you’ve been the demon on my shoulder telling me to do everything that I never wanted to do, pushing me to make every wrong choice, and manipulating me into believing so many lies that were never even close to the truth.”

Confusion swam in San’s face. The blackness was slowly beginning to fade from his eyes, the whites slowly reappearing until he looked almost human again.

“But there’s one thing that you’ve never let me do. No matter how much I wanted, you never let me follow through with it.”

He hadn’t even noticed the tears beginning to fall from his eyes, and yet he wasn’t able to stop himself from smiling.

“At first, I really thought you were on my side. I thought I could believe you, that you were telling the truth. I…” he inhaled shakily, “I thought you were a _guardian angel,_ ” he laughed, unable to stop himself. He felt hysterical. Giddy. So, so light that he might float away given the chance. He shook his head, “God, I was so _stupid_.”

Mindlessly, he began to double up the long chain in his hands. It was much thicker this way, it shouldn’t be able to snap with the pressure, and yet it should still be _just_ long enough…

“You always pushed me to make the choices I wouldn’t have made on my own, to follow through with impulses I would otherwise be able to ignore… you always were the final push I needed to let a little more darkness in,”

The chain gleamed up at him through the tears blurring his sight.

“But there’s just one thing that I’d always wanted so _badly_. One thing I was actually brave enough to try on my own… more than once. But you… you never let me do it. You stopped me every. Single. Time.”

Yeosang’s body finally slipped from the demon’s fingers to the floor, forgotten, as understanding began to dawn on San’s face.

“But I’m following through with it this time, San. I don’t need your help. I have something pushing me that you will _never_ have. Something far, far more powerful than anything you can use against me.”

San’s lips curled into a sneer.

“And what’s that, mortal?”

Wooyoung’s gaze flicked over to Yeosang’s body collapsed on the floor, motionless apart from the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the proof that he was still _alive_.

“Love.”

He turned back to the demon.

“I always thought you loved me, San. I really did,” his smile slipped, “I wanted to believe it so bad, that you could love me, that you _did_ love me. But I’ve come to accept that never was the case. I’ve accepted that you never were capable of it, and that you never would be.”

For a moment, Wooyoung and his demon simply watched each other with painful familiarity, a few feet of distance and eight years of memories filling the space between them.

“You obsessed, you wanted, you craved... but never loved. Love is so much more than that. It’s doing the right thing regardless of what you get in return. Love is a choice. A daily one. It’s choosing to do the right thing day after day, no matter how difficult that choice can be. Love isn’t a feeling, or an emotion... it’s an action. Love...”

Ever so slowly, he took the chain of the rosary and slipped it around his neck, once, twice, before tying it tightly and pulling until the knot was flush to his skin. Each time he swallowed, it put an uncomfortable pressure against his windpipe.

When he then slid the large cross through the knot in the chain, it held the knot firmly in place, exactly as planned.

All he had to do was twist the cross and it would tighten without unraveling.

A perfect tourniquet.

“Love is sacrifice.”

San’s eyes widened.

_“No.”_

With a harsh tug, the beads tightened around his neck, altogether cutting off his airflow. He twisted the metal cross violently, once, _twice,_ before pinning it back down in place under the chain where it dug into his throat and forced the necklace to remain taut, not allowing it to loosen or unravel. Exactly as planned.

An unearthly cry erupted from the demon then, as smoke began to spill out from somewhere inside, filling the space around him.

The room grew hazy and distorted, black dancing at every edge and corner. Wooyoung’s throat was on _fire,_ lungs screaming for air. Tears welled up in his eyes, distorting his vision even more, and his fingers instinctively clawed at the chain around his neck. His entire body was begging him for air, his chest heaving with violent spasms as it tried again and again to pull oxygen into his lungs to no avail. It was as though his chest was being torn open from the inside, all he could feel was pain. Burning, stinging pain.

He was drowning on dry land.

The darkness that surrounded his vision like static crept further and further into his sight, opening its arms around him and pulling him in.

Just before his vision dimmed completely, the very last thing he saw was the demon pouncing on top of him, and his own body collapsing beneath the creature’s sudden weight.

The very last thing he remembered was San’s iron grip on him, pulling him down, down into the abyss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> .  
>  **TW//CW**
> 
> Graphic depiction of suicide/ self-choking/ strangling/ suffocating
> 
> (I tried to keep it as toned down and non-graphic as possible, but it's still very much there.)
> 
> .  
> .
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter!! This is officially my longest one yet at nearly 5k for pt II ALONE. And wow, what a ride. I hope you're all ready for chapter 22, bc honestly, it's the one I'm the most excited to write!! It's gonna be i n t e n s e. 
> 
> If you haven't already noticed, there is going to be one more chapter after this, followed by an epilogue! I cannot believe this story is nearly over... I don't know what I'll do with myself when it's done. Probably stare blankly at a wall and just think about the emotional rollercoaster that writing this has been. I'm feeling so sappy and emotional right now, but I'm just so grateful for this emotional rollercoaster of a fic and for all of you beautiful and lovely readers who've ridden it with me. 
> 
> Once again, I would like to give a HUGE thank you to everyone that's taken the time to leave a kudos, a comment, or a message on twitter or tumblr. You're all my biggest motivation, and being able to hear your thoughts, feelings, theories, and favorite parts of this story is always the highlight of my day. You're seriously the best, and I love every single one of you!!
> 
> Finally, Merry Christmas and happy holidays, everyone!! I hope you've all been having a restful time, have been eating tasty food, and have been staying warm and safe and happy. Wishing you all an even happier new year!!
> 
>  **Chapter 22 will be up Friday, January 8 (EST).**  
>  Stay tuned!
> 
> xo Versace


	22. Limbo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, the moment you've been waiting for!!! A beefy 8k words but I didn't have the heart to split it into yet ANOTHER chapter, so enjoy the MEGACHAPTER
> 
> Please, please, PLEASE listen to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z6ylGHfLrdI&t=5214s) while reading the first part of the chapter if you want the vibes to be enhanced 300%
> 
> Also, if you haven't checked it out yet, I made a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2B1zYqQkrjjWQ7yzTDUhSh?si=E6yGpjaiQ_GPdk-XVOmXjA) for this fic!! Give it a listen!
> 
> Anyways, that's enough from me, enjoy the chapter!!!

Wooyoung stirred.

Behind his closed eyelids, a faint, distant light was growing like the sunlight of the early morning, when the world is still clothed in the grey shades of nighttime, but less heavy, less deep.

Every single muscle in his body ached, as though he’d been hit by a car or trampled by a stampede of horses. Beneath him, the ground was hard and cool, a slight dampness soaking into his clothing. And everything was silent.

Eerily silent.

Slowly, he blinked his eyes open, squinting up at the world around him.

Except, there was little to see.

The world was dark, a thick white fog surrounding him on every side, rolling silently across the dirt beneath him.

Staggering to his feet, Wooyoung brought a hand up to his throbbing head while he tried to recall what had happened. The memories were muffled, blurry, tucked somewhere to the back of his mind where he had to dig them out and sort them in order to make sense of everything, the way thoughts become jumbled in the morning after waking from a dream that feels unsettlingly vivid.

Was he dreaming?

Was he –

_Wait._

His hands shifted to his throat,

Where the rosary was still tightly entwined, digging into the skin, as unrelenting as the noose of a hanged man. He paled, hand recoiling as the realization dawned on him.

He wasn’t breathing.

Ever so slowly, he dropped a single palm to his chest, the sickening knowledge of what he was sure to find only outweighed by his morbid curiosity to confirm it.

As the seconds ticked by, he became horrifyingly aware of the absence of a heartbeat.

Was he dreaming?

Was he… dead?

Where was he?

Hands falling back to his sides, he peered around, attempting to orient himself in some way. But all he was met with was the eerie, looming fog.

Placing one aching foot in front of the other, he began stumbling blindly through the fog. There was no breeze here. No wind. No sun. Above him was nothing but pure blackness, like a starless night sky, but somehow even darker.

Beneath him, was dark grey soil, like that of a forest floor. Around him, the rolling white fog.

And silence.

“San?” he called.

His voice came back to him, echoing through the fog. His only response.

 _“San!”_ he tried again; his throat raw from where the chain still cut into his neck.

Again, he was met with the slow curl of the white fog, and the muffled sound of his own staggering footsteps, bare feet nearly silent against the cool dirt.

But then, all at once, the fog began to clear, dissipating into the night around him and gradually revealing the dark greys of the world ahead.

When he finally emerged from the haze, he found himself standing in the middle of a field. At some point, the dirt had transitioned into long dry, grey grass which now brushed against his knees as he continued forward. Looking outward across the field, he could see the grass dip and sway, moving as though blown by an invisible wind, but no breeze touched his own face. Just that eerie stillness.

As he continued forwards, unsure of any general direction, he became increasingly aware of the way the grass ahead of him suddenly seemed to vanish into thin air, leaving nothing but blackness in its wake. Despite the unusual circumstances, he knew what that meant.

A cliff.

Closer to the drop-off, the grass slowly dwindled out, while the strange grey dirt again made a reappearance.

Creeping closer still, Wooyoung lowered himself to the ground so he could peer over the sheer drop and into the pit.

Hands clutching at the ground beneath to keep himself steady, he craned his neck forward over the edge,

and gasped.

Miles beneath him, stretching as far as the eye could see

Was fire.

Nothing but fire.

“I’d be careful if I were you.”

Wooyoung jolted upright at the sudden voice, nearly losing his balance. Before he could, a hand firmly grasped his wrist, pulling him around and into the safety of a firm chest.

The fire beneath glinted off San’s onyx eyes, like glowing red embers.

“Where is this place?” Wooyoung breathed. His voice sounded disembodied to his own ears, as though it didn’t even emerge from his lungs, or touch his own lips. As though it simply happened.

“Limbo,” San spoke softly at their proximity.

“The edge of hell.”

A chill crawled up Wooyoung’s spine as a particularly bright flare illuminated the world around them for a moment before returning to its steady glow.

“Is that…” he began, unsure if he wanted to know the answer, “Is that where I’m going?”

He glanced back down into the deep pit where the flames burned like embers miles beneath them.

San’s eyes glinted in the darkness.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“If you decide to let me in,” the demon murmured, his hands slipping around Wooyoung’s waist. Shadows danced across his face from the eerie light of the flames as he frowned, “Or if you send _me_ there in your place.”

Wooyoung’s hands slid up San’s arms. Neither to push him away nor to pull him closer, but to ground himself.

“San, I – “

“I never intended to hurt you, Wooyoung. You _must_ know that,” sorrow pinched at San’s features, “But what choice did I have? You just kept pushing me away… there was nothing else I could do,” he drew closer still despite how little room there already was between them.

Not for the first time Wooyoung felt like a mouse being stared down by a serpent.

“Just let go,” San breathed, “Let me in. Look around us, darling,” he gestured into the darkness that seemed to press in on every side, before pulling Wooyoung infinitely closer.

“I’m all you have left.”

So softly it could have been mistaken for a passing breeze, the demon crossed what little distance remained between them, and kissed him.

“Let me fill the void in your soul, Wooyoung,” he whispered, tilting his head forwards until it rested against Wooyoung’s, “Let me be with you, let me be _yours_ … forever. Just like this. Just like before.”

Wooyoung wished he wasn’t still so affected by the faintest touch. More than anything, he wished that the way his stomach rolled at that was from disgust. He wished he _didn’t_ want that so desperately, even now.

“I can’t,” Wooyoung pushed San away with a hand on each forearm, “I can’t love you, San. I can’t keep letting a monster like you ruin my life, killing anyone who _dares_ to get close to me.”

“Oh, _I’m_ a monster?” San scowled,

“I never made you take a single action against your will,” he said, stepping suddenly forwards. Instinctively, Wooyoung matched his movement, backing up the same distance, before the demon again pressed forward, with Wooyoung following suit, “ _I_ never forced you to make a decision that wasn’t _entirely your own_. _I_ never planted a single idea in your head, Wooyoung, _I simply pushed you to actually see them through._ ”

Wooyoung moved to back up another step but was met with the crumbling edge of the cliff directly behind him. He was trapped.

San stopped walking only inches from Wooyoung. The shadows cast across his face by the hellfires were downright ghastly now, his face distorted and horrifying in the unnatural glow.

“Any impulse _you_ acted on was purely _your own._ Any choices, _you_ took independently. Any blame that you want to now shrug off _your_ shoulders and pin onto _me_ belongs to absolutely no one but _yourself_ ,” he snarled, “My role has never been to _make_ you evil, but to make you realize that the potential to commit atrocities beyond your wildest imagination _has always been inside you_.”

His face set like stone as the fury slowly dwindled into steady, seething anger, rolling low and deep beneath the surface like thunder in the swollen sky.

“You, Wooyoung, have always been more than capable of evil. Do not blame me for the blood on your own hands.”

Wooyoung gasped as a hand roughly fisted into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer to the demon until they were eye-to-eye and he couldn’t look away.

“You want to see a monster?” the demon spat,

_“Look in the goddamn mirror.”_

And then he released Wooyoung’s shirt, before turning away. Wooyoung collapsed to the ground of the cliff edge, his legs too unsteady to hold him upright.

The demon’s back was to him now, and for the first time, Wooyoung realized that San’s standard grey pajamas from Gonjiam had been replaced with a sheer black robe, which billowed out behind him with every step despite the absence of a breeze. His arms, chest, and legs were all bare, with what seemed to be one long piece of gauzy fabric wrapped and looped intricately around his body.

The steady glow of the fire painted flickering shadows across the firm, muscular planes of the creature’s skin, which appeared now to be painted in a vast array of tattoos, ornate and indiscernible, a stark contrast of black ink against pale flesh.

As he now stood, illuminated only by the fires of hell itself, and draped in his true colours as a citizen of the underworld, San was breathtaking. And Wooyoung hated that he couldn’t even attempt to claim otherwise.

“You’re right.”

San froze, before slowly turning back, eyes widened in surprise.

“I _am_ capable of horrible things. They _were_ my own decisions and I _was_ the one who made them.”

Wooyoung glared defiantly at the creature as he pushed himself up off the ground.

“But you’re wrong about one thing, San. We are _not_ the same,” he gritted, “You and I are both capable of doing horrible, evil, disgusting things, but that’s where the similarity stops,” Wooyoung stepped forwards, gauging the demon’s reaction. San simply stared; mouth dropped open in surprise.

“Evil is a choice. You said that yourself. It’s a choice and it’s a daily one,” he took a step forward, away from the cliff edge.

“Yeah, I may be capable of the worst horrors imaginable, but I’m _also_ capable of choosing not to go through with them. I _am_ able to _choose_ to do what’s right, and often that’s even harder. But it’s a choice, and it’s one I have to make, every single day. I may be able to imagine evil more gruesome than the world has ever known, but I _don’t_ have to _act_ upon any of it.”

He stopped, face to face with the demon once again.

“But you?” Wooyoung frowned up into San’s guarded expression. The demon’s face had since been carefully molded into a mask of indifference, but behind his smoldering ember eyes was an intense weight of emotion waiting to burst like water trapped behind a dam. A storm brewing within.

“There isn’t a day in your life that you could ever choose to be anything _except_ evil,” Wooyoung murmured, “You don’t even _have_ that choice.”

San inhaled sharply.

“I’m only a monster if I choose to be one. You don’t have that choice, San. You’re not a monster by actions or by choice but by _nature_ … And… maybe that’s why I pity you so much.”

Sadly, he smiled at the demon before him.

“Maybe that’s why it hurts so much to have to push you away. Because all along, you never had a choice. You never chose to be who you are, San. You never chose to be a monster.”

He took a long, shuddering breath that never reached his lungs.

Less than an arm’s reach away, San watched him, his carefully constructed mask beginning to crumble at the edges. He was trying to mend it as his guard continued to fall, to will his features into submission, but Wooyoung knew him for far too many years to be fooled.

So Wooyoung closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around the stoic creature, and enveloping him in a hug.

San’s surprise was palpable, his arms tensing where they hung at his sides. The demon’s ever-present cockiness that he had carried with him for so long to shield himself from the world like Yeosang and his old blue security blanket was nowhere to be seen now.

Tucking his face into San’s neck, Wooyoung stroked the demon’s back, smooth skin cold to the touch. His heart clenched when he noticed how comforting the frigid temperature of the demon’s flesh had become to him now.

He could pinpoint the moment the demon _finally_ succumbed, the rigidity melting from his body with a shuddery sigh, before his strong arms lifted to wrap around Wooyoung’s waist and pull him flush against the creature’s chest. Burying his face into Wooyoung’s hair, the demon inhaled deeply, drinking in his scent.

For a moment, time seemed to pause, suspended in the unmoving air around them.

Eternity stretched before them and the flames of hell beneath them. Minutes passed and hours passed and yet not a moment at all, as hands slowly trailed and caressed and blindly mapped out the terrain of each other’s bodies that had become far too familiar by now.

The demon’s heartbeat echoed through Wooyoung’s chest cavity, highlighting the cavernous hole where his own should be.

“How am I supposed to do this, San?” Wooyoung murmured into the dip of the creature’s neck, “Why is it, after everything, that it’s still so hard to let you go?”

A hand shifted up Wooyoung’s back to curl into his hair, pressing him even closer to the demon’s body.

“Let me in or let me go, baby,” he whispered, voice muffled in Wooyoung’s hair, “But this hurts, Wooyoung. It hurts to be like this.”

The break in the demon’s words made Wooyoung pull away, just enough to see the uncertainty that now tugged at San’s brow.

For the first time in the eight years that Wooyoung had known San,

The creature looked scared.

“If I let you in…” Wooyoung began tentatively, “I’ll be just like my father… won’t I?”

San hesitated, eyes avoiding Wooyoung’s gaze, before nodding.

“And if I don’t?”

For a moment, San stared off into the dark towards the vast reach of the fire below, before eventually returning to search Wooyoung’s face once again.

“If you don’t, I burn alive in the lake of fire for centuries, without the mercy of ever dying,” San rasped, “Surrounded by darkness and the sound of groaning and wailing unlike that of any hospital ward the earth has ever known. Where the worm eats at your flesh but never is satisfied, and the fire licks at your skin but never extinguishes or burns it away. Where you’re surrounded by voices but no one can hear you, nobody knows you’re there. The place where your lips are parched for all eternity and the water never quenches your thirst but turns to sand inside your mouth.”

The shadow returned to his face, deepening the frown etched into his brow.

His grip on Wooyoung’s waist grew tighter, his fingers digging into Wooyoung’s flesh wherever he could reach it, as though he had no other alternatives but to physically keep himself attached to Wooyoung in order not to lose him.

As though he already knew the battle had been lost.

But was unwilling, or unable, to surrender.

“Hell is a horrible place,” his gravelly voice rolled, low and deep as the flames beneath, “You may think you’ve experienced it in your lifetime, but I assure you that the life you’ve endured is _heaven_ in comparison. You know nothing of horrors, Wooyoung. You know _nothing_ of hell.”

And then, the mask finally crumbled from San’s face, leaving nothing but pure, indescribable pain.

Such a _human_ emotion.

“Please, Wooyoung,” he whimpered, “Don’t let me go.”

And a tear, a single tear, fell down San’s pale cheek.

It was the first time Wooyoung had ever seen the demon cry.

“I… I can’t…” Wooyoung whispered, not trusting his voice not to break.

_Terror._

“Please, Wooyoung… don’t let me go there. _Please_ , don’t do this to me,” San’s voice rose, “Just let go. Hate them with me. Succumb to the blackness and _let me in_.”

A fist thumped weakly against his chest.

His own tears were beginning to fall now, matching those of the demon. They slipped down his face in rivulets and occasionally painted his lips in salt water.

Clenching his eyes shut, he pulled himself free of San’s grip, turning away.

“I’m sorry,” Wooyoung rasped, “I am. I have no reason to be. But I am. After all you’ve done to me…” his hands balled into fists at his sides, “After _everything_ you’ve done to me… I still just… wish there was any other way.”

San collapsed to the ground, crawling over to wrap his arms around Wooyoung’s legs, restraining him from putting any more distance between the two. He buried his face in the fabric of Wooyoung’s pant leg and simply clung, chest heaving with heavy sobs. Bony fingers curled into the fabric and did nothing but hold on, like a lifeline. Wooyoung grit his teeth against the sobs that were beginning to press at the back of his own throat, as his mind begged him to reconsider.

“There _is_ another way!!” the demon cried, “There – there _can_ be – _must_ be! Please, baby, don’t do this – don’t let me go back there!”

Wooyoung only stood there, watching the fire consume the world before him, smoke billowing up from the depths of the pit in thick black clouds.

Eventually, the demon’s sobs softened to only the occasional whimper. Acceptance in the face of grief.  
“Please,” San turned his face up to him from his place at Wooyoung’s feet. The demon’s eyes were rimmed with red, glistening with sorrow, features contorted in anguish.

“Don’t send me back there.”

And Wooyoung felt his heart, so eerily still in his chest, shatter into pieces at the sight.

Memories, eight years of memories, flooded through his mind in an endless stream.

Years spent with San by his side, the laughter shared between them, jokes and games to pass the time. The slow, lazy kisses exchanged in his bed in the evenings, long after his mother had gone to sleep, and the feline glint in San’s eyes and the smirk on his lips as the creature hovered above him. The vastness of his eyes when he looked at Wooyoung, as though he were the most beautiful thing on earth.

Playing tag on their walk home from school….

School…

The relentless bullying.

The black eyes his mother had to ice –

His mother.

The hollowness behind her eyes and the emptiness in her smile every time she dropped him off at the doctor’s office.

The way her hope diminished with the time and faded from her life like the colour from an old painting exposed for too long to the sun.

The way her eyes had looked, so wide and horrified with the knife protruding from her stomach.

The blood that poured endlessly from the wound.

The blood on the kitchen floor.

The blood on his hands –

His hands.

Wrapped around Yeosang’s throat.

Extinguishing the light he had wanted nothing more than to preserve against the oppressive darkness of the world.

Wooyoung swallowed thickly, wrenching his eyes from the creature’s pitiful face. Just one last time. One last time he had to be brave. There would be plenty of time to feel his pain later on, an eternity’s worth. But now, one last time, he needed to be strong.

He knew what he had to do.

“San…” he began, voice weak with the weight of emotion, “I never wanted it to happen. I really didn’t. But…” he laughed pitifully, “I did. Love you.”

A tear traced the line of his cheek, and the last two words were merely a whisper that caught in his throat,

_“I did.”_

San’s eyes widened, hope shining through _so_ briefly, like catching the barest glimpse of sun between rainclouds.

“How could I have helped it?” he cast a wistful smile down at the creature.

“I loved you. Far too much, but never enough. Not the way I wanted to. Not the way I wish I had. But I did. I’m sorry I never allowed myself to tell you sooner.”

So carefully, afraid the creature would shatter with the lightest touch, he lowered a hand to stroke through San’s midnight hair. The demon leaned into the action.

“But I can’t, San. I can’t... I can’t love you. Not anymore. And I wish… I wish that I didn’t still. I wish this could be easier… that it didn’t have to hurt so much. But I _can’t_ love you, San.”

Whether he was trying to convince himself or the demon more, he couldn’t be sure, but the heartbreak in the creature’s face and the tug at his own heart told him that, perhaps, it was both.

“I _can’t_ care for you the way that I already do.”

Slowly, he lowered himself to a crouch on the ground before the demon. Face-to-face. Eye-to-eye.

“I know what I have to do.”

The demon frantically shook his head,

“No… no… Wooyoung you don’t know what you’re doing,” he grasped at Wooyoung wherever he could reach, his arms, his hands, his cheeks, his shoulders. A desperate attempt to hold on. To keep Wooyoung from letting go.

Tears streaked the creature's face, his chest, his hands. He was sobbing, face screwed up and red, the most human Wooyoung had ever seen it in the creature’s pain.

“Please, don’t do this to me, baby. Please don’t sent me there – _anywhere_ but there.”

Carefully, Wooyoung extracted his hands from the demon’s weak hold. Tears were streaming freely down his own face now. He didn’t try to stop them.

“I’m sorry.”

Wooyoung raised his hands to his neck, fingers meeting the cold metal chain of the rosary. Pulling the cross free, he unwound the chain, the beads softly clacking as they brushed against one another.

When it was finally loose, he removed it from around his neck, pausing for a moment with the crucifix held daintily between his thumb and forefinger. He raised it to the light, watching how the flames illuminated the delicate Latin script and ornate molding.

How ironic it was, that such a beautiful thing could become so deadly. His eyes turned to the demon before him.

So deadly.

But so beautiful.

“I never was strong enough on my own,” he murmured thoughtfully, “But you knew that. I needed you for so long.”

With his free hand, he breached the empty silence between them and cupped San’s sniffling face. It appeared now even paler than a moment ago. Weaker, almost. As though he were fading away. His lower lip trembled as his eyes frantically searched Wooyoung’s face. A thousand questions behind his gaze. A thousand answers Wooyoung wouldn’t be able to give him.

“You were my only friend for far too long,” he attempted a smile, but it didn’t quite work, “And you were a good one. I haven’t had many others to compare… but you were good.”

Rainy evenings wrapped in his arms.

Walking home from school hand-in-hand.

Playing video games side-by-side on his bed.

“Yeah…” he choked, “You were good.”

San’s breathing had become labored, his chest heaving with every shaky breath, lips trembling with the effort.

“For so long I only had you. And it took me far too long to realize… that was your own doing. You didn’t let me make room for anyone else. You wouldn’t share.”

San’s jaw clenched.

“And even now,” he sniffled, “Even now I’m still not strong enough. On my own, I still want you so _fucking_ badly,” mindlessly, his fingers traced the line of San’s jaw. His chin. His ear.

“But I’ve come to realize… I’m not alone. Not really. And I never was.”

_Yeosang._

_His mother._

_Seonghwa._

_Dr. Kim._

_Yunho. Jongho. Mingi. Hongjoong._

Wooyoung raised his other hand to properly cup the demon’s face. The prayer beads dangled between them.

“I don’t belong to you anymore,” he whispered,

“But… I _did_. I did, San, I really did.”

And taking the demon’s face in his hands, he kissed him.

There are no words to express the kiss that followed. Heat, pain, fever, passion, desperation, breathless, furious, tragic.

No, it was so much more.

Hands molding with bodies, tongues twining in a slow, intimate dance, eyelashes fluttering at the unexpected warmth, breathless gasps and muffled whimpers that were just a bit _too_ akin to sobs.

Eight years and an eternity being feverishly condensed into a single blazing moment of fervor.

Two souls mapping out, memorizing, committing to heart the warmth, the feeling, the sounds, the taste of the other.

Two hearts slowly breaking each other to pieces in one another’s arms.

An ending that was coming far too soon, and yet not early soon enough.

It was their last kiss. Their last chance. Their last moment.

Both were aware.

But… it was also more than that.

It was, in a way, a first of sorts.

It was the first time they stood together, face-to-face, on equal footing. It was the first time they knew the true intentions of the other, and still proceeded. It was the first time that each party was in control, and neither held anything over the other. It was a first, and also the last.

And perhaps first kisses can sometimes be even more heartbreaking.

“I’m so sorry, San,” Wooyoung murmured into the demon’s parted lips. They were so close still, clinging to each other with no intentions of letting go. From this close, Wooyoung could just barely see San’s eyes, half-lidded watching him earnestly. His swollen lips shone with saliva in the eerie light. Wooyoung delicately wiped them dry with the pad of his thumb, and the demon followed the movement, leaving a small kiss there.

Wooyoung sniffed.

“I really wish I could have loved you.”

Then he lifted the rosary between them, pressing the cold metal of the crucifix into the demon’s bare chest, directly over his heart.

As San simply watched him, a weak, shaking hand came to rest overtop of Wooyoung’s, fingers linking with his own where he was holding the metal to the demon’s flesh.

“Choi San… Tahavah… the Demon of Lust, Obsession, and Desire.”

Not once did San’s eyes leave Wooyoung’s face.

“I command you to leave me…”

The demon’s face blurred through the tears welling up in his eyes.

“… and to never come back.”

He barely managed to choke out the last word, cutting off the sentence with a broken sob.

His voice was so quiet that it was barely audible, but it froze the very gates of hell.

San’s eyes were so human as they studied Wooyoung’s face one last time, carefully committing every single detail to memory. Long ago had the blackness faded away, the demon unmasking himself, baring himself to Wooyoung. Finally allowing himself to be _vulnerable_.

An icy hand moved to Wooyoung’s face and gently dabbed his tears away.

One moment, frozen in time, transcending the years before and the eternity to come.

But it was not to last forever.

Black arms, like seven large pillars of smoke shot up from the pits of hell, then, before twisting and writhing in a silent serpentine dance to wrap around San. The demon’s face dropped in horror as hands tightened around his body, tugging him from Wooyoung’s grasp.

San’s grip on Wooyoung’s hand was still firm, and after a painfully sharp tug against his arm, Wooyoung realized that he was still holding on as well.

It was always so hard to let go.

So Wooyoung closed his eyes, just for a moment. Just long enough to gather the courage. Just this once.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

And then he let go.

The world stilled with that same eerie silence, just the two of them suspended in time.

Just the demon, committing to memory every detail of Wooyoung’s face.

And Wooyoung trying to forget the look of betrayal that burned within the creature’s eyes.

Then, with one final wrench, the arms of hell pulled the demon from the edge of the cliff and down,

Down,

Down,

Into the deep abyss.

And he was gone.

Wooyoung was suddenly faced with nothing but empty air and a silence that fell so much emptier than before. Slowly, he cupped his hand to his chest, the hand that the demon had been holding just moments ago. The hand that let him go.

The fingers were still cold from the demon’s touch.

Immediately, Wooyoung became distinctly aware of an unsettling sense of emptiness. He was really gone.

Wooyoung’s legs collapsed from beneath him, and for a moment, he just sat there, hunched in the dirt and surrounded by that horrible silence. Too many thoughts, too many feelings, too many words were flashing through his mind, that it was as though his brain went into an emergency shut-off mode, cutting off the whirlwind of thoughts and injecting his bloodstream with a Novocain grade sense of numbness.

The tears had finally stopped, but Wooyoung wasn’t sure if it was from exhaustion, or from using them all up.

For what seemed like hours, Wooyoung just sat there. Unfeeling. Alone.

Remnants of tears had begun to dry on his face, leaving it sticky with salt, but yet he didn’t bother to rub it away.

Exhaustion pulled at every corner of his mind, eyelids eventually beginning to flutter. But he didn’t want to succumb. He tried to fight it. What would he wake up to? What would come next?

Eyes flickering to scan the grey world around him, he noticed that the darkness had drawn closer now. At first, it had sat on the outskirts of his peripherals, like a vignette on a photograph. Without him realizing, it had moved in, like the fog from before, but somehow, he knew it wasn’t the same.

This blackness was too thick. Impenetrable.

There were no shadows within. It was a total absence of light.

And before his eyes, it only continued to close in on every side.

_So, this is the end._

Why was he not afraid?

Because he had faced his demons. Because he had won. Because finally, _finally_ , he could rest.

He was so tired.

He was just so tired.

Swaying slightly with the weight of exhaustion where he still sat upright, Wooyoung closed his eyes, _feeling_ the darkness wrap its ghastly arms around him.

It was so warm.

One last time, he thought of those he loved.

_Forgive me, Yeosang._

_Please don’t miss me too much._

_Take your time. I’ll be patient. I’ll wait._

_It will only be a little while before I see you again._

At last, his body collapsed fully to the ground, but it didn’t hurt. He didn’t feel much of anything, really. It was like he was floating. Disembodied. Watching himself from a distance.

And then the darkness engulfed him, swallowing him whole.

And finally, _finally_ ,

He succumbed.

-

Golden light shone beyond his closed eyelids, comfortable, peaceful, like the rising sun.

A hand, warm and soft to the touch, caressed through Wooyoung’s hair.

Wooyoung stirred, but just a little, still feeling too comfortable to wake up. Every muscle in his body felt suspended in air, as though he were floating on a cloud. A warm tingling numbness ebbed from his head down to his toes and his fingertips and back up. His mind was groggy, fuzzy, and jumbled, almost like waking up in the morning when your bed feels like the most comfortable place on earth. Or when you wake up an hour before you’re meant to be up, and that comfortable relaxation just seeps through your bones so you simply rest your head back on the pillow, ready to fall back into dreamland.

But before Wooyoung could fall back to sleep, a soft voice spoke up.

“You can’t sleep, child. Not yet.”

His eyes blinked open at the familiar sound.

The world around him hadn’t changed. The sky overhead was the same black void. The eerie white fog had rolled back in around him. The strange grey grass continued to bob and sway in the lack of a breeze.  
But now, the small area around him was beaming with golden light, a glow so pure and clean, it was unlike any he’d ever seen before.

The light warmed his skin where it touched him, the way the early summer sun warmed his face in the gardens of Gonjiam.

And a pale face was smiling down at him.

One he never thought he’d have the chance to see again.

It couldn’t… It just _couldn’t_ be…

_“Mom?”_

He hardly recognized her anymore.

Skin which before was gaunt, sickly, and dull was now plump and vibrant, glowing from within and rosy with colour. Gone were the deep creases in her forehead, around her eyes. Gone was her limp, lifeless hair and her bony hands and her bruised legs and arms. Gone was the worry, the fear, the hurt that weighed her tiny shoulders down for so long that they’d begun to curl in on themselves on their own accord.

It was the first time Wooyoung had ever seen her look so _alive._

Rosy lips curled back to reveal pearly white teeth as she beamed at her son, chocolate brown eyes curving into little sparkling crescent moons. Joy radiated from her face like a beacon, and her hand shifted the focus of its previous ministrations from his hair to his face.

Warm, plump fingers traced his cheek, his eyebrow, his chin, before tapping him softly on the tip of the nose.

“Look how handsome you’ve become. My Wooyoung… you’re growing up on me.”

A little tear sparkled in the corner of her eye, but she was still smiling.

“My baby… Who said you were allowed to get so big?”

Slowly, Wooyoung pushed himself up until he was sitting. He clasped his mother’s hands in his own, squeezing them and feeling them and reveling in how warm, and soft, and healthy, and _alive_ they were – _she_ was.

 _“Mom,”_ he surged forward then and threw his arms around her, burying his face into her shoulder just before a giant sob wracked his entire body.

“Oh, Wooyoung,” she murmured, her own arms moving to pull her weeping son into her lap.

“You’ve done so well, child.”

Slowly, she began to sway with him side to side, as though trying to shush a teary infant.

“Don’t cry. _Shh._ No more tears. You’ve already spilled far more than your share.”

Wooyoung sniffled, holding her tighter.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he hiccupped, “I’m s – so sorry, I – I k… k – I”

 _“Shhhh.”_ A hand cupped the back of his head, fingers gently combing through his hair once again.

“I know, darling, I know,” a soft kiss landed on the crown of his head, “You’re already forgiven. No more words.”

Pulling back, Wooyoung stared at her, eyes wide with wonder.

Carefully, his mother dabbed his tears away with the hem of her white sleeve.

“But…” he began, “But I did this to you.”

“Yes,” her smile saddened, “You may have. But I’m more alive than I’ve ever been. So please don’t cry Wooyoung. I’m so incredibly happy now.”

Suddenly, she looked away, eyes growing distant as she peered off into the fog. Sorrow flashed across her face, but only for a moment, before the twinkling smile returned.

“We’re running out of time, I’m afraid. It’s time for you to go, Wooyoung. You can’t stay here, not yet. It’s not your time.”

Wooyoung’s hands flew to hers at that, holding tightly.

“No! I’m not leaving! I want to stay with you!”

“Oh, darling,” her smile was so _fond,_ it broke Wooyoung’s heart to pieces.

“I want that too. Believe me, I want that too. But it won’t be long before I see you again.”

Her smile quieted into a soft glow.

“All I ever wanted was for you to have your life back. So much of it was taken from you, and I wish I could give every moment of it back. You were just a _child_ ,” her voice wavered, “You were so young.”

Wooyoung stroked his mother’s hand with his thumb and she smiled appreciatively at the gesture.

“That wish still hasn’t changed, Wooyoung. I want you to _live_. To grow and to thrive and to find the happiness that you weren’t allowed for far too long. I want you to learn to make peace with your past, by living and loving in _spite_ of it.”

Again, she stopped, eyes drifting off to some far-off location through the fog, a flash of worry pinching her brow.

“I know, I’ll hurry, _please_ , just a moment more.”

Wooyoung didn’t know who she was talking to.

But then she turned back to him, face setting in earnestness and she went on.

“Please, Wooyoung. Live. That’s my only wish for you. Live despite your circumstances – in _spite_ of them. Don’t stop loving. Don’t ever let that light die out within you. Only then will it all have been worth it.”

Her words came faster, as though she was racing against some invisible clock.

“It’s only if you give up now that it will all have been for nothing. If you give in now, the darkness will have won after all.”

“But I’m so tired, Mom,” Wooyoung whispered, “I’m ready. I just want to be with you again,” his throat felt too tight, he could hardly choke the words out, “I just want to be with you.”

Tears were now trickling down his mother’s face.

“There’s an entire eternity for that later, darling. But now, you must live. Just a short little while. It won’t even feel like a moment and it’ll be up. You still need to brighten up existence with everything left in you. You need to spread a little more life into the world before you leave it. There are people there waiting for you, Wooyoung. Their wait will be so much harder than mine.”

One last time, she sharply looked off into the fog, eyes widening in anxiousness.

_“I know, just a moment more! _Please!_ I’m almost done!”_

Turning back again, she gripped Wooyoung’s hands tightly, as though trying to convey the importance of her words through the pressure.

“You won’t be able to change your past. But you have every opportunity to change your future. So, _mend_ the hearts you’ve broken. _Wipe_ the tears you caused to fall. _Be_ the person you wish you always had been, the one you never had the chance to become before. The darkness will have won if you leave it here. _San_ will have won. Don’t let him. Go home, Wooyoung,” her hand reached out to cup his face one last time, before the golden light began to grow.

Brighter and brighter, it shone, like a steady beam, until he couldn’t make out the features of her face anymore. Wooyoung reached out desperately, but he couldn’t feel her in front of him. It was too bright. Too blinding. He couldn’t see.

Before the light engulfed him completely, he was just able to make out his mother’s last words:

“There will be plenty of eternity left to share when we meet again.”

And then the light swallowed him whole.

-

_Blackness._

__

_It’s so dark._

__

_Am I dead?_

__

_Is this my grave?_

__

_Suddenly a voice: “Clear!”_

__

_Then, an explosion of light_

__

_Colour_

__

_A kaleidoscope of blinking lights_

__

_Then_

__

_Pain_

__

_Sharp, burning pain tears through my chest._

__

_I gasp in response and feel air pouring into my lungs_

__

_I try to take more, more, more. Drinking the air into my lungs like a parched man._

__

_The air feels thick in my chest._

__

_It weighs me down like a heavy blanket._

__

_I’m so tired_

__

_I’ll just go back to sleep a while_

__

_Maybe it’ll be better in the morning_

-

The morning sunlight reflected off the dazzling crystals of newly fallen snow, casting the bedroom in a pastel glow of pinks and golds.

The heavy blankets of the bed were heaped high, the most comfortable of nests to burrow into.

It was still early. No need to wake up just yet.

A quiet stirring in the blankets behind him caused Wooyoung to roll over, pulling the blankets up and tucking them under his chin when he settled back down.

San’s soft morning smile greeted him.

“Hi, baby,” he yawned, eyes puffy from sleep and hair a tousled mess against the pillow.

Wooyoung’s heart surged with affection as he raised a hand in an attempt to tame the wild black locks of hair that spilled into the demon’s face.

Before he even reached the creature’s hair, San caught him by the wrist and pulled him in for a soft kiss. Wooyoung inhaled sharply in surprise, but it was only a moment before his lips were curling upwards in a smile against the demon’s.

The kiss was over far too soon, as San, instead, rolled onto his back, pulling Wooyoung down on top of him, his face landing in the crook of the demon’s neck. Warm arms enveloped Wooyoung, pressing him even closer to the demon’s chest.

A prolonged, quiet moment passed, just like that.

Wooyoung listened to the soft exhales of the creature beneath him, his palm laid flat against his bare chest where the steady thumping of his heart coaxed Wooyoung into a nearly meditative state.

He was just so warm. So safe. So comfortable.

“Hey, Woo?” San’s voice broke the easy silence.

“Hey, what?” His murmured response came muffled against the skin of the creature’s neck.

“I love you.”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung wrapped his own arms around the creature, pressing his face even deeper into the dip of his neck,

  


“I know.”

-

The room was silent.

Empty.

Four blank, yellowed walls, a small window too high up to see out of, a single bed in the center, and an intricate series of machines and cables and monitors, each and every one in some way hooked up to Wooyoung’s body.

It’s been four days.

Four silent days. Four dreamless nights.

Four days of instinctively seeking out the corners of his mind where a familiar presence would always be.

Four days of painful realization that those corners stood vacant.

Four days of learning to stop looking for the shadow that wouldn’t be there.

Four days of listening to the deafening drone of his roaring thoughts, unused to the silence surrounding him now.

Four days of sleeping alone in this hospital bed, with the crinkly plastic sheet and the threadbare blanket that offered little warmth against the chill of the drafty halls.

Four days of waiting for the bed to dip beneath a familiar body weight, and the cool press of skin to follow, and then, remembering that it never would.

Four days passing by in a blur of black and white, IV drips, silent meals on plastic trays, and studying the cracks and mildew stains on the off-white ceiling of the infirmary.

Four days in complete and total absence of San.

He felt more alone now than he ever did in solitary. An isolation of the mind. An emptiness like no other.  
It was the silence that was the hardest to get used to.

He’d never realized how much he depended on San for company until the demon was finally gone.

But then, the door creaked open.

Yeosang peeked into the room, a tired smile on his face.

“Hi, sleepyhead.”

Wooyoung’s heart lurched.

“Come here.”

In only a matter of paces, Yeosang was beside him, eyes bright and smile blooming across his rosy lips. The heart monitor began to beep at a quicker pace then, causing the smaller boy to giggle. Wooyoung couldn’t even feel embarrassed.

And then Yeosang’s hands were cupping his face, so carefully as though Wooyoung might snap with the slightest harsh movement, as though he were made of glass, fragile, delicate, breakable.

The way Wooyoung used to treat _him_.

Freshwater eyes gazed down at him, so wide with wonder, the way they always did. As though Wooyoung was the most precious thing on earth.

And perhaps, to Yeosang, he was.

He didn’t think he would ever know why. He didn’t think he could ever believe it about himself.

But he was beginning to learn, day by day, that love wasn’t about yourself anyway. Yeosang loved him, and he was, by some miracle, allowed to love him back. And knowing those simple truths could sometimes be enough.

“I missed you, y’know,” Yeosang’s eyes were sparkling. Beautiful. Divine.

Then, they were kissing.

The kiss was sad, yet passionate. Tender, yet rough. Slow, yet desperate.

Everything, and more.

Eventually, Yeosang was curled up in the small bed beside him, head pillowed on Wooyoung’s shoulder, legs carefully arranged across Wooyoung’s lap.

Occasionally, Wooyoung could feel the boy place feather-soft kisses against the bare skin of his neck, atop the mottled ring of purple bruising there.

In the shape of a necklace.

For the first time in their life at Gonjiam, neither had a curfew, nor any restrictions keeping them apart.

They had time.

A lifetime’s worth.

Late into the evening, they talked, a debrief of sorts.

Healing began.

A week later, Yeosang moved back into their room.

Neither even had to ask that night when they automatically gravitated to Wooyoung’s bed.

It was different, though, from any night they’d shared before. The innocence of the initial act, chaste cuddles in soft pajamas, took on the form of heated, desperate kisses shared beneath the cover of the blanket. Clothing was slowly stripped away and discarded mindlessly somewhere on the floor until there was absolutely nothing keeping them apart any longer.

Lips and hands wandered and left their marks, staking their claim on each other’s hearts, and planting real and physical _proof_ of their affection across the canvas of the other’s body.

The quiet of the room was punctuated with gasps and muffled, breathless moans. Wooyoung reveled in the sound.

Neither slept the entirety of the night.

Neither wanted to.

Even in the early hours of the morning, when the autumn sun was just beginning to creep above the horizon, softening the dark of night into paler shades of grey, the sunrise found them tangled together beneath the blankets, Yeosang’s head against Wooyoung’s chest, talking quietly about everything and anything and more.

Seonghwa never mentioned it, but the quiet smile he gave Wooyoung the next morning was just a little _too_ knowing.

  


Over time, their hearts gradually softened at the edges. They no longer needed the hard shell that had protected them for so long.

It wasn’t easy. It never is.

But it was worth it.

Over time, forgiveness happened.

Over time, love happened.

Day by day, hearts were mended a little bit more.

And maybe,

Just maybe,

It would all be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhhhh I can't believe we're nearly done 😭😭 Just the Epilogue left to go!
> 
> I'm dying to know what you're all thinking!! Did it live up to your expectations?? Did you expect this would happen?? How are you feeling???  
> I for one am in SHAMBLES bc of this fic. I wept so many times writing this chapter alone.
> 
> Are we happy with the Woosang?? And how about the Woosan???? 
> 
> ANYWAYS, I want to say another HUGE thank you to everyone who's read my fic so far. Every single kudos, message, and comment makes my whole entire day, and the fact that this fic has gotten over 450 kudos????? I'm speechless. It makes my heart so happy to know that there are so many of you out there that have enjoyed this story <3 <3 Thank you from the bottom of my heart!!
> 
> Pretty please leave a comment or kudos if you've liked this story so far!! And I will see you all in the Epilogue which should be up either next friday, or the friday after that!
> 
> See you soon!!
> 
> xo Versace


	23. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, the Epilogue is here! It's a bit longer than I intended bc it seems I've grown a bit too attached to the characters, but I hope you all enjoy!! <3
> 
> xo Versace
> 
> If you haven't yet, check out the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2B1zYqQkrjjWQ7yzTDUhSh?si=xRI1ecsISfWlvf-6rs_-yQ) I made for this fic!

_You and I were always two stars  
Shining side by side in the night sky,  
Light years apart, and yet both a part  
Of the same big, beautiful constellation._

  


_My place was always next to you,  
In that bigger picture of the sky.  
But all along, we never even belonged to the same galaxy.  
All along ten thousand light years lay between us._

  


_And despite how bright we always shone together,  
On that velvet canvas of the night,  
In reality, infinity lay between us,  
Miles upon miles of dark, empty space._

  


_So now I think I understand,  
When I hear people say that the timing just wasn’t right.  
Because together we lit up the night  
For so long that I almost thought  
Perhaps there was some intrinsic connection,  
Some force of gravity and nature between us, keeping us together.  
Something as invisible and inconceivable as dark matter._

  


_But closeness is an illusion.  
A trick of the eye,  
A miscalculation of the heart._

  


_They say that stars are so far away  
That when you look at them, you see a fire burning brightly,  
When in reality, a vast majority of them could already have died.  
But the light is still traveling here, as it is capable of reaching so far._

  


_And I wonder how accurately that portrays the human existence.  
The stars that burn the brightest reach the furthest,  
So far that their impact can be seen long after they’re gone._

  


_I wonder how accurately that portrays your love for me.  
I can still feel it, you know.  
Long after you left.  
I can still see a little piece of you  
Glimmering like a star in my night sky.  
Even though you always were so far away from me  
That in our brief little lifetime our paths never even had the chance to truly cross  
Before our light died out._

  


_But your warmth still touches my soul from light years away,  
And your light still illuminates my life,_

  


_Even from such an untouchable distance._

Tucked into the corner window seat of a cafe, Wooyoung closed the cover of the book.

It was a pitiful thing, the stained cover worn and ripped, pages yellowed and dog-eared, the occasional page torn out and missing altogether.

But even so, it was beautiful.

The worn pages held memories, of warm summer evenings beneath the stars listening to the distant hum of cicadas and city traffic, of Saturday mornings with coffee and nowhere to be, and of rainy afternoons spent squished into an armchair beside his mother, listening as she recited the lines she must have nearly known by memory.

Throughout its aging pages it held marks and notes in two different sets of handwriting, circling certain parts, underlining others, and seeking out the deeper meanings, the truths beneath the printed lines.

The book looked nothing like it did when his mother must have first acquired it, new and pristine, with white, unblemished pages and without the tearstains now blurring the occasional word.

No, it wasn’t pristine anymore.

But that was okay.

It never was the perfections that made it lovely anyways, but the life it carried in its imperfections.

The memories and the lessons acquired along the way.

Placing the book down on the table in front of him, Wooyoung mindlessly reached for the half-empty ceramic mug of coffee. He raised it to his lips, turning to watch the afternoon bustle of the street through the glass of the window.

It was a dreary January day, the temperature hovering just above freezing, but with rain falling in the place of snow. The streets were grey beneath the overcast sky, yet busy with pedestrians even despite the chill.

Wooyoung watched, unseeing, his eyes trailing the different faces, the patterns of clothing, and the colourful umbrellas, while his mind began to wander.

But then, he gasped.

From the other side of the crosswalk, tucked among the sea of bodies waiting to cross at the light, a glimmering pair of onyx eyes connected with his.

And San smiled.

Only barely catching his mug before it slipped from his fingers entirely in his shock, Wooyoung blinked back to where the demon’s face had been only moments before.

But he was gone.

His eyes scanned the sea of faces, as the light flicked to green, now moving together in unison like a school of multicoloured fish, but deep down, he knew it was a fruitless effort.

This simply tended to happen sometimes.

For eight years, the demon had danced in the corners of his mind, filling the gaps and voids and silences in his life with vibrance, laughter, and conversation. He was ever-present, always nearby, or at least never too far away to summon to the forefront of his consciousness.

Now, in his absence, Wooyoung’s brain still expected to see the creature, at the corner of his vision, in the middle of a crowd. It still would sometimes try to fill the silences of his life with the demon that had filled those holes for so long.

But ultimately, those holes were left open now. Gaping, torn, and empty.

Day by day, they closed in a little more, healing up the way an open wound slowly seals shut, albeit no less painfully.

Day by day the holes grow smaller. He seeks out that face less and less with time.

But every time that he still did – every time he swore that he could hear that tinkling laugh, or catch the glint of those eyes or that dark, wild hair in a crowd – it seemed to tear those wounds back open, leaving him with a dull ache in his head where the demon used to reside.

It left him feeling so horribly, unbearably lonely.

Tearing his eyes from the street, now emptier than it was a moment ago, Wooyoung turned back to his coffee, which had long since grown cold, and sighed.

For a moment, he wondered if the demon ever would fade away entirely, from his memories and from his mind like a sepia photograph that’s spent too long in the sun.

He wondered, also, if he even wanted that to happen.

Or if the comforting familiarity of San’s face was his subconscious’s way of easing his guilt towards the creature. If he was in denial, and too unwilling to face the truth head-on, the truth that the creature no longer existed on this mortal plane.

The truth of exactly where Wooyoung had damned him to for eternity.

No, he wasn’t sure what hurt more, remembering… or forgetting.

Or perhaps it was neither altogether.

Perhaps, it was the _hope_ that hurt the most.

The hope that San could one day return. The hope that the creature would one day be summoned from the pits of hell and return to the earth. The hope that he could be redeemed.

The hope… that Wooyoung might see him again one day. In a different time, a different place, different circumstances.

That perhaps he could make peace with the demon that had haunted his life for so long, the demon he had damned to hell’s abyss.

Yes… perhaps it was the hope that hurt the most.

Checking his watch, he stood up then, his chair screeching slightly against the tiles as he pushed it back, and slipped the worn book back into his bag.

With one last, lingering glance, his pulse quickening with unwarranted hope, he finally tore his eyes from the empty stretch of pavement and exited the cafe.

-

The moment Wooyoung entered the familiar lobby with the same old, yellowed walls, barred windows, and heavy, windowless doors, he felt an odd sense of nostalgia wash over him.

At least Gonjiam hadn’t changed.

Stepping up to the front counter, Wooyoung peered down nervously at the pretty young nurse seated there, manicured fingers tapping at the keys of her computer. Noticing his presence, she paused and flashed him a quick smile.

“Name please?”

He scuffed his shoe against the linoleum floor.

“Jung Wooyoung.”

Some more quick tapping on the keyboard.

“And what brings you here today, Wooyoung?”

“Um,” he glanced quickly to the doorway to the right of him, the entrance to the ward he knew far too well.

“I’m here for Kang Yeosang. He’s, uh, being discharged today.”

The nurse hummed understandingly, fingers again dancing quickly across the keys, before picking up the phone on her desk with a flourish. She dialed a number and held the receiver to her ear for just a moment before murmuring a few words and placing it back down with a _click_ , before gesturing to the door.

“You can head right on in.”

Thanking her, Wooyoung turned to the doors standing just over to the right of the desk. An electronic buzz echoed through the quiet room followed by the mechanical sound of the door unlocking. Pausing for just a moment to suck in a deep breath and calm his anxious nerves, he pushed the door open and stepped through.

Nothing had changed.

The same dark hallways.

The same common room off to the right, with the stained teal couches, the mismatched furniture, the tv in the corner with nature documentaries filling the room with soft classical music and ambient noise. The same people colouring the same pictures and reading the same books and making the same crafts.

And to the left, the same nursing station, with the same smiling Seonghwa getting to his feet behind the same tall desk.

And beside him,

Yeosang.

The same Yeosang, now wearing a backpack far too big for him and a smile far too bright for those dark halls.

And he was practically running towards Wooyoung.

With arms open wide, he caught him... barely. The pair staggered backwards slightly from the force of the impact, but Wooyoung hardly had a moment to stop and regain his balance before his face was being tugged down by a pair of soft hands and Wooyoung found himself face to face with the boy. All he could see were sparkling freshwater eyes and perfect little pearly teeth as Yeosang giggled, only for it to be muffled against his mouth as the boy pulled him into a deep kiss, soft and sweet and slow.

Wooyoung lost himself in the feeling, the warmth of the body pressed up against his own, the petal soft lips, the smell of baby powder and detergent, everything that was so Yeosang, Yeosang, _Yeosang_.

Vaguely, he registered the loud whooping cheers of the other residents when they finally broke apart, Yeosang giggling up at him with his hands clenched tightly around his own.

A few of the female nurses cooed while Seonghwa busily shuffled papers behind his desk, as though trying to give them some semblance of privacy, his lips pouted in a poor attempt to hide a smile. A loud screech erupted from Yunho as Mingi playfully attempted to steal a smooch from him, before Jongho swatted at both of them, shushing them with a pointed look.

 _No._ Wooyoung smiled, clutching Yeosang to his chest.

_Nothing had changed._

“Congrats you two,” Jongho grinned, ushering a still cackling Yunho and Mingi back towards the common room.

“You really deserve to be this happy.”

Yeosang’s arms tightened around his waist, face burrowing into his jacket. Wooyoung peered down at the boy, noting the way his heart stuttered in fondness at the sight.

_Happiness._

What a beautiful feeling.

When Yeosang finally pulled away – not without stealing a few more quick kisses – Seonghwa was beside them.

He placed a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder, “Have you gotten everything from your room?”

“Oh,” Yeosang smiled apologetically at Wooyoung, “I’ll be right back.”

And he took off down the hallway.

A look of distress spread across the nurse’s face.

 _“How many times do I have to tell you to_ WALK, _for the love of -”_

The rest of his reprimand was cut off with a noise of surprise when Wooyoung pulled him into a hug. It only took a moment before he relaxed into the touch, arms coming up to hug back.

“It’s not going to be the same here without you two here,” Seonghwa murmured against his shoulder, voice sounding a bit too close to tears. Wooyoung couldn’t allow that. They’d shed more than enough tears in their time knowing each other.

Pulling apart, Wooyoung pat him on the arm with a smirk.

“It’s not the same without you nagging me everyday, Mom.”

Seonghwa huffed out a laugh at that, a finger coming up to dab at a moist eye.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a lazy pain in the ass, I wouldn’t have _had_ to nag you all the time.”

Wooyoung could only smile in response. That seemed to happen more these days.

“But, really…” Seonghwa began after a moment, “You will stay in touch, right…? As a friend, I mean. I’m not your nurse anymore, but…” his smile trembled just a little, “I’m not kidding when I say I’m gonna miss you.”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung’s chest felt a little bit lighter at that.

“A friend.”

Together they stood in the doorway to the common room for a moment, watching the bustle and chaos of the patients, such a painfully familiar sight.

“Do you ever miss being here?”

Seonghwa watched him from the corner of his eye.

Scanning the room, Wooyoung allowed the nostalgia to wash over him, a year’s worth of memories. Reading novels on the couch by the window with Yeosang curled up beside him, solving puzzles at the table in the corner, the constant bickering and teasing from the other boys of the floor.

An entire year of his life at Gonjiam Psychiatric Hospital. An entire chapter of his life, closed.

“You know…” he finally turned back to face the nurse, “I spent over a year in this building… but… it never did feel like home.”

The nurse only nodded understandingly.

“Maybe… maybe that’s because it was never _meant_ to be a home.”

Seonghwa turned back to scan the room, eyes roaming affectionately across the faces there.

“I don’t think every chapter of life is meant to feel like home. I think some chapters are simply meant to help us know _what_ home is when we find it.”

Wooyoung watched him curiously for a moment, mulling the words over in his head. He could remember the mornings spent roaming the empty halls at sunrise, the afternoons with his book of poetry, and the evenings spent ticking tally marks into his journal… every one of those moments bringing the same question to his mind that, only now, he finally allowed himself to ask.

“What _is_ home, Seonghwa?”

The nurse was silent for a moment, gaze fixed on one point in the room with so much adoration that Wooyoung didn’t even need to look to know what had him captivated. Nevertheless, he followed his gaze to where the small brunette, Hongjoong, was delicately painting a little clay pot in the soft glow of the window.

“A feeling,” the nurse said then, softly, contemplatively, before turning back to Wooyoung, “Being accepted. Being yourself without hiding anything or holding anything back, and being loved for it unconditionally… Yeah,” he nodded, a distant twinkle in his eye,

“Home is where you’re loved.”

Just then Yeosang emerged from the hallway, now donned in a thick coat, sneakers, that backpack that still looked far too big for his little frame, and a heavy suitcase.

He smiled shyly at Wooyoung where he was still standing conspiratorially with the nurse in the entrance to the common room. The boy’s cheeks were glowing a soft pink, likely from the combined warmth of the coat and the exertion of carrying his heavy things.

“ _Go home_ , Wooyoung,” Seonghwa said, eyes twinkling, before landing a warm palm on his shoulder in a quick squeeze.

His throat suddenly seeming to have closed up on him, all Wooyoung could manage was a nod in response, but the way the nurse’s eyes shone at that and the hand tightened its grip on his shoulder, he knew the words unspoken were well understood.

A gentle tugging on his sleeve alerted him to Yeosang’s presence beside him, the boy smiling up at him with flushed cheeks.

“Are you ready?” Yeosang murmured, blush creeping even further across his face as Wooyoung caught his retreating hand and entwined it with his own.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be,” he responded truthfully, biting his lip in an effort to control the stupid smile he knew was already taking over his face. With his free hand, he took the suitcase from Yeosang,

“Let’s go home.”

When the heavy doors of Gonjiam had swung shut behind them and Wooyoung had loaded Yeosang’s things into the trunk of his mother’s old car, he pressed the boy up against the passenger door and kissed him once again, unable to stop himself. He was utterly helpless, lost in the sensation - the weightless feeling of the combination of newfound freedom, unconditional love, and a future as endless and open as the horizon.

The two pulled apart breathless, laughter bubbling up between them like ripples in a river.

“What was that for?” Yeosang gasped.

“I love you,” Wooyoung breathed, tipping his forehead to rest against the other’s, “Or do I need _another_ reason?”

“No,” Yeosang blushed lightly, his hands curling into the collar of Wooyoung’s jacket, “That’s a good reason.”

Wooyoung beamed at him, Yeosang, _his_ Yeosang.

His entire world, his entire life from this moment on revolved around this boy with the nervous smile and sparkling eyes. His entire future, his goals, his ambitions, his universe.

Way back, so many months before, when Wooyoung was locked in the isolation room, he’d had to imagine a future without him. He’d had to confront the horrible possibility of a future devoid of anyone he’d ever had the chance to love. He’d had to imagine a future that Yeosang wouldn’t be a part of.

A future he was willing to die before he would ever have to see.

But now, now there they were.

Two haggard, calloused souls, set free from the barred windows of Gonjiam, with little more than a beat-up car, the clothes on their backs, and a hole-in-the-wall apartment that Wooyoung had just barely been able to scrape the money together to afford – a cramped enough space for one, let alone two. The pipes leaked and the floors creaked and the ceiling was stained with colours Wooyoung refused to try to decipher, but it was _home_.

There was still work to do. There was steady employment to seek out, college to save up for, planning and saving and all those other adult responsibilities to sort out. There was still healing to do. That doesn’t come overnight, but would be a lifelong effort, surely.

No, the future wasn’t particularly bright, at least, not yet. Not on the immediate horizon.

But… Yeosang would be a part of it.

Wooyoung _had_ a future, and _Yeosang would be a part of it._

His heart leapt at the thought.

It hadn’t been easy to get to this point, of course not. It had taken nights of talking, wrapped up tightly in each other’s arms, chest against chest, and heart to heart. It had taken months of weekly visits once Wooyoung had received the _all clear_ for his own discharge. It had taken countless long walks in the golden autumn gardens, a thousand careful words and bitter tears, and innumerable new beginnings, first steps, second chances.

But slowly and surely, the chasm between them was being bridged. Over time, the distance between them began to close up, to grow smaller, until the point that their fingertips could touch when they stretched them out to reach for each other.

As time healed the scars on Wooyoung’s body, time carefully began to mend their broken hearts, knitting them together even more tightly than before.

It wasn’t easy.

It never is.

But it was worth it.

However, there was still one last thing, one final piece of closure Wooyoung needed to move on. One that he had been far too afraid to face on his own, until now.

But with Yeosang beside him, his foundation, his steady rock, his anchor, Wooyoung was convinced he could do anything.

Leaning forwards, he pressed one last lingering kiss against the boy’s mouth.

“Do you mind if we make a stop on the way? There’s someone I want you to meet.”

-

It had just begun to snow when they arrived at the cemetery.

Wooyoung’s hand was trembling where it was clutching Yeosang’s, probably far too tightly to be comfortable, but he didn’t complain.

It was just so surreal.

Seeing the tombstone.

His mother’s name spelled out like that in a large font.

The date… the day she… the day he…

_Surreal._

Like a lucid dream.

Wooyoung had only just noticed that his breath had begun to come in quick, shallow bursts, when a warm arm wrapped around him, pulling him in to the scent of baby powder and laundry detergent.

He couldn’t even cry.

Yeosang held him, hand stroking up and down his back. He didn’t say a single word. He didn’t need to. It was enough.

Wooyoung clung to him like a lifeline as the emotions he’d put off allowing himself to feel for so long washed over him in the unavoidable, undeniable proof of the reality before him.

After several long quiet moments, his breathing began to slow and his body began to cease its spasms. A hand was now carding lightly through his hair.

“How are you feeling?” Yeosang murmured.

“I d – didn’t think it would h – hit me like this,” he inhaled shakily into Yeosang’s neck, “I – I’m sorry.”

“ _Wooyoung,_ ” Yeosang chided, pulling back he cupped one hand under Wooyoung’s chin, guiding it upwards until he could look into his yes, “Don’t ever apologize for the way you feel.”

Numbly, he nodded at that, drawing a hand up to cup Yeosang’s before he could withdraw it from his face. He pressed a gentle kiss into the palm.

“I just – I just wish she could have the chance to meet you,” he whispered.

Yeosang’s eyes glistened.

When he spoke, his voice was rougher than before.

“Then… will you introduce us?”

Wooyoung’s heart clenched at the sincerity of the boy’s expression.

How could he ever deny him?

 _“Yeah…”_ he rasped, “Yeah, I can do that.”

Taking Yeosang’s hand in his own, he led him forwards to the tombstone. For a moment, he simply steadied his shaking breaths.

“Mom,” he finally began, “I’d like you to meet someone.”

Squeezing Yeosang’s hand, he pulled him closer to his side.

“This is Yeosang.”

Tears welled up in his eyes, distorting the stone before him.

“He’s someone that’s so incredibly special to me. He’s _everything_ to me.” A shuddery breath. “I _love_ him, Mom. More than anything. I _love_ him… and… and I just _know_ you would have too.”

If he closed his eyes, he could see her shining face before him. He could hear her tell him not to cry, not to be sad anymore. She was in a better place now. He knew that.

But she wasn’t _here._

“You would have loved him so much if you had the chance to meet him. He’s just like you,” he sniffed, rubbing at his nose with his coat sleeve, “He sees the good in people that don’t even see the good in themselves.”

A thumb brushed the back of his hand, reassuring, grounding.

“He’s the greatest thing to ever happen to me.”

For a moment, the words sat in silence. The falling snow muffled the sounds of the world around them, painting the stone white.

Wooyoung wasn’t expecting anything else to follow, so when Yeosang’s soft voice spoke up, he startled.

“Mrs. Jung…” he began, soft voice trembling slightly, “Your son is the most incredible person I’ve ever known.”

Wooyoung clenched his eyes shut, against the pinpricks of tears suddenly welling up behind his eyelids.

“Thank you for raising him into the person he is today… the one who’s helped me and guided me and loved me more than I ever thought I could be loved.”

A sob escaped Wooyoung’s throat, but Yeosang pushed on.

“And… I promise that as long as I live… I’ll look after your son. You won’t ever have to worry about him while I’m here. I’ll take care of him… I’ll take care of Wooyoung.”

His hand tightened around Wooyoung’s then, and the tears finally fell. Clamping his hand over his mouth to muffle his sobs, Wooyoung cried.

 _“Forever,”_ Yeosang murmured, _“I promise.”_

_Forever._

An eternity. An eternity together. An eternity beside the boy with shining eyes and a heart that had been broken a thousand times but overflowed with love even still.

_Forever._

A whispered promise into the reverent silence of the cemetery that bore more weight than a spoken vow in a church hall.

_Forever._

Wooyoung didn’t even know which of them it was that pulled the other into their arms, but he suddenly found himself sobbing into Yeosang’s jacket, a pair of arms wrapped tightly around him, as his own shook where they clutched at Yeosang’s shoulders, clinging to him and to the promise that never again would they be torn apart. Never again would they be separated. Never again.

_Forever._

The word repeated again and again, whispered like a prayer into the tiny space between them, neither knowing who spoke the words but both believing them so deeply and truly that it didn’t even matter. The word, that single word, bridging the very last of the gap between them, the final thread stitching their hearts back together, their souls to one another’s.

_Forever._

_I promise._

It was only after several long moments of muffled sobs and gentle caresses, wrapped up in each other’s arms and simply allowing themselves to feel the accumulated weight of grief run over them like the waves of Wooyoung’s troubled seas, that Yeosang finally dabbed the last of Wooyoung’s tears away and smiled up at him, his own eyes damp and red around the edges.

“C’mon. Let’s go home, Woo.”

As the two slowly made their way back to the car, the snow had begun to pick up, falling from the sky in a flurry of big, fluffy flakes and coating the ground of the cemetery in a blanket of white.

In front of the tombstone, the cold wind ruffled the pages of a book that was now propped up carefully against the bottom of the stone, the pages fluttering as though turned by an unseen hand.

It was an old book, the pages yellowed and torn, rounded and dog-eared at the corners, and stained with years worth of love and memories.

But even so, it was lovely.

Possessions are as temporary as the people in our lives.

But their impact is eternal.

The good, the bad, the monsters, the first loves, the friends, the demons, and all those in between – each has a place and a purpose, a lesson or a new light through which to see the world. Nobody touches our lives by chance, and every experience is a way of shaping us into who we are to ultimately become.

We may not be able to control what happens to us, but we can control our own impact in the lives of others.

Goodness is a choice. A daily one.

And we must do with that as we will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> W o w.
> 
> I'm genuinely in shock rn at the fact that this story is officially over.  
> I started this fic almost a year ago for something to keep me busy during quarantine, but I never imagined it would turn into the monster of a fic that it's become.
> 
> I'll try to keep this as brief and un-sappy as possible, but essentially:
> 
> Thank you so so much to everyone that's been on this journey with me! Thanks to everyone who took the time to leave a kudos, a comment, or send a lovely message even while the story was still incomplete. Your support is 100% what kept me motivated enough to complete this, and I couldn't have done it without you all!! 😭💕
> 
> I have several other ideas for fics that I'm hoping to begin this year, first of which being a dark and angsty Alice in Wonderland Woosang, so I hope you'll all look forward to those with me!!
> 
> If you like, come follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/thx_its_versace) or [tumblr](https://thanks-its-versace.tumblr.com/), I'm more than happy to answer any questions you might have or to simply yell about the boys with you!! 
> 
> Thanks again for reading!! See you soon!!
> 
> xo Versace

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!  
> It would mean the world to me if you leave a kudos or a comment, and if you would like, you can chat with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/thx_its_versace), [Tumblr](https://thanks-its-versace.tumblr.com/), or [Curious Cat!](https://curiouscat.qa/thx_its_versace/)  
> See you soon!


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